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THE 
WORKS  OF 
HENEY  FIELDING 

Edited   by 
GEORGE  SAINTSBURY 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

VOL.  I. 


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CONTENTS 

PAGE 
INTBODUCTION xi 

Pbeface gyxiy 


BOOK  I 

Chaptee  I. 

Of  writing   lives   in    general,    and   particularly   of    Pamela; 

with  a  word  by  the  bye  of  Colley  Cibber  and  others     .      .       1 

Chapteb  II. 

Of  Mr.  Joseph  Andrews,  his  birth,  parentage,  education, 
and  great  endowments;  with  a  word  or  two  concerning 
ancestors 4 

Chapteb  III. 

Of  Mr.  Abraham  Adams  the  curate,  ]\Irs.  Slipslop  the  cham- 
bermaid, and  others 8 

Chapter  IV. 
What  happened  after  their  journey  to  London     ....     14 

Chapter  V. 

The  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  with  the  affectionate  and 
mournful  behavior  of  his  widow,  and  the  great  purity 
of  Joseph  Andrews 17 

Chapter  VI. 
How  Joseph  Andrews  wrote  a  letter  to  his  sister  Pamela     .     21 

Chapter  VII. 

Sayings  of  wise  men.  A  dialogue  between  the  lady  and  her 
maid;  and  a  panegyric,  or  rather  satire,  on  the  passion 
of  love,  in  the  sublime  style 26 

V 


yi  CONTENTS 

Chapter  VIII. 

PAGE 

In  which,  after  some  very  fine  writing,  the  history  goes  on, 
and  rehites  the  interview  between  the  lady  and  Joseph; 
where  the  latter  hath  set  an  example  which  we  despair 
of  seeing  followed  by  his  sex  in  this  vicious  age     ...      31 

Chaptee  IX. 

What  passed  between  the  lady  and  Mrs.  Slipslop;  in  which 
we  prophesy  tliore  are  some  strokes  which  every  one  will 
not  truly  comprehend  at  the  first  reading 38 

Chapter  X. 

Joseph  writes  another  letter:  his  transactions  with  Mr.  Peter 

Pounce.  &c.,  with  his  departure  from  Lady  Booby     .      .     44 

Chapter  XI. 
Of  several  new  matters  not  expected 47 

Chapter  XII. 

Containing  many  surprising  adventures  which  .Joseph  An- 
drews met  with  on  the  road,  scarce  credible  to  those  who 
have  never  traveled  in  a  stage-coach 52 

Chapter  XIII. 

What  happened  to  Joseph  during  his  sickness  at  the  inn,  with 
the  curious  discourse  between  him  and  Mr.  Barnabas,  the 
parson  of  the  parish 61 

Chapter  XIV. 

Being  very  full  of  adventures  which  succeeded  each  other  at 

the  inn 66 

Chapter  XV. 

Showing  how  Mrs.  Tow-wouse  was  a  little  mollified;  and 
how  officious  Mr.  Barnabas  and  the  surgeon  were  to 
prosecute  the  thief:  witli  a  dissertation  accounting  for 
their  zeal,  and  that  of  many  other  persons  not  mentioned 
in  this  history 73 

Chapter  XVI. 

The  escape  of  the  thief.  Mr.  Adams's  disappointment.  The 
arrival  of  two  very  extraordinary  personages,  and  the 
introduction  of  parson  Adams  to  parson  Barnabas  .     79 


CONTENTS  vii 

Chapter  XVII. 

PAGE 

A  pleasant  discourse  between  the  two  parsons  and  the  book- 
seller, which  was  broke  otY  by  an  unlucky  accident  hap- 
pening in  the  inn,  which  produced  a  dialogue  between 
Mrs.  Tow-wouse  and  her  maid  of  no  gentle  kind     ...     92 

Chapter  XVUI. 

The  history  of  Betty  the   chambermaid,   and   an  account   of 

what  occasioned  the  violent  scene  iu  the  preceding  chapter   100 


BOOK  II 

Chapter  I. 
Of  divisions  iu   Authors 105 

Chapter  11. 

A   surprising  instance   of  Mr.   Adams's   short   memory,   with 

the  unfortimate  consequences  which  it  brought  on  Joseph   109 

Chapter  III. 

The  opinion  of  two  lawyers  concerning  the  same  gentleman, 

with  Mr.  Adams's  inquiry  into  the  religion  of  his  host      .    116 

Chapter  IV. 
The  history  of  Leonora,  or  the  unfortunate  jilt      ....   125 

Chapter  V. 

A  dreadful  quarrel  which  happened  at  the  inn  where  the 
company  dined,  with  its  bloody  consequences  to  Mr. 
Adams 148 

Chapter  VI. 
Conclusion  of  the  unfortunate  jilt IGO 

Chapter  VII. 

A  very  short  chapter,  in  which  parson  Adams  went  a  great 

way 167 

Chapter  VIII. 

A    notable    dissertation    by    Mr.    Abraham    Adams;    wherein 

that  gentleman  appears  in  a  political  light     ....    171 


viii  CONTENTS 

Chapter  IX. 

PAGE 

In  wliich  the  gpntlpman  discants  on  bravery  and  heroic  virtue, 

till  an  unlucky  accident  puts  an  end  to  the  discourse     .    176 

Chapter  X. 

Givinp  an  account  of  the  strange  catastrophe  of  the  preceding 
adventure,  which  drew  poor  Adams  into  fresh  calami- 
ties; and  who  the  woman  was  who  owed  the  preserva- 
tion of  her  chastity  to  his  victorious  arm 183 

Chapter  XI. 

What  happened  to  them  while  before  the  justice.     A  chapter 

very  full  of  learning 190 

Chapter  XII. 

A  very  delightful  adventure,  as  well  to  the  persons  concerned 

as  to  the  good-natured  reader 200 

Chapter  XIII. 

A  dissertation  concerning  high  people  and  low  people,  with 
Mrs.  Slipslop's  departure  in  no  very  pood  temper  of  mind, 
and  the  evil  plight  in  which  she  left  Adams  and  his 
company 208 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 

THERE  are  few  amusements  more  danger- 
ous for  an  author  than  the  indulgence  in 
ironic  descriptions  of  his  own  work.  If 
the  irony  is  depreciatory,  posterity  is  but  too 
likely  to  say,  '^Many  a  true  word  is  spoken  in 
jest;"  if  it  is  encomiastic,  the  same  ruthless  and 
ungrateful  critic  is  but  too  likely  to  take  it  as  an 
involuntary  confession  of  folly  and  vanity.  But 
when  Fielding,  in  one  of  his  serio-comic  introduc- 
tions to  Tom  Jones,  described  it  as  "this  pro- 
digious work,"  he  all  unintentionally  (for  he  was 
the  least  pretentious  of  men)  anticipated  the  ver- 
dict which  posterity  almost  at  once,  and  with  ever- 
increasing  suffrage  of  the  best  judges  as  time 
went  on,  was  about  to  pass  not  merely  upon  this 
particular  book,  but  upon  his  whole  genius  and  his 
whole  production  as  a  novelist.  His  work  in 
other  kinds  is  of  a  very  different  order  of  excel- 
lence. It  is  sufficiently  interesting  at  times  in  it- 
self; and  always  more  than  sufficiently  interesting 
as  his;  for  which  reasons,  as  well  as  for  the 
further  one  that  it  is  comparatively  little  known, 
a  considerable  selection  from  it  is  offered  to  the 
reader  in  the  last  two  volumes  of  this  edition.  Un- 
til the  present  occasion  (which  made  it  necessary 
that  I  should  acquaint  myself  with  it)  I  own  that 
my  own  knowledge  of  these  miscellaneous  writ- 

xi 


xii  INTEODUCTION 

ings  was  by  no  means  tliorougli.  It  is  now  pretty 
complete;  but  the  idea  wliich  I  previously  bad  of 
them  at  first  and  second  hand,  though  a  little  im- 
proved, has  not  very  materially  altered.  Though 
in  all  this  hack-work  Fielding  displayed,  partially 
and  at  intervals,  the  same  qualities  which  he  dis- 
played eminently  and  constantly  in  the  four  great 
books  here  given,  he  was  not,  as  the  French  idiom 
expresses  it,  dans  son  assiette,  in  his  own  natural 
and  imj^regnable  disposition  and  situation  of 
character  and  ability,  when  he  was  occupied  on  it. 
The  novel  was  for  him  that  assiette;  and  all  his 
novels  are  here. 

Although  Henry  Fielding  lived  in  quite  modern 
times,  although  by  family  and  connections  he  was 
of  a  higher  rank  than  most  men  of  letters,  and  al- 
though his  genius  was  at  once  recognized  by  his 
contemporaries  so  soon  as  it  displayed  itself  in 
its  proper  sphere,  his  biography  until  very  re- 
cently was  by  no  means  full ;  and  the  most  recent 
researches,  including  those  of  Mr.  Austin  Dobson 
— a  critic  unsurpassed  for  combination  of  literary 
faculty  and  knowledge  of  the  eighteenth  century — 
have  not  altogether  sufficed  to  fill  up  the  gaps. 
His  family,  said  to  have  descended  from  a  mem- 
ber of  the  great  house  of  Hapsburg  who  came  to 
England  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  distinguished 
itself  in  the  Wars  of  the  Eoses,  and  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  was  advanced  to  the  peerages  of 
Denbigh  in  England  and  (later)  of  Desmond  in 
Ireland.  The  novelist  was  the  grandson  of  John 
Fielding,  Canon  of  Salisbury,  the  fifth  son  of  the 
first    Earl    of    Desmond    of   this    creation.     The 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

canon's  third  son,  Edmond,  entered  the  army, 
served  under  Marlborougli,  and  married  Sarah 
Gold  or  Gould,  daughter  of  a  judge  of  the  King's 
Bench.  Their  eldest  son  was  Henry,  who  was 
born  on  April  22,  1707,  and  had  an  uncertain  num- 
ber of  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  whole  blood. 
After  his  first  wife's  death.  General  Fielding  (for 
he  attained  that  rank)  married  again.  The  most 
remarkable  offspring  of  tlie  first  marriage,  next 
to  Henry,  was  his  sister  Sarah,  also  a  novelist, 
who  wrote  David  Simple;  of  the  second,  John, 
afterwards  Sir  John  Fielding,  who,  though  blind, 
succeeded  his  half-brother  as  a  Bow  Street  mag- 
istrate, and  in  that  office  combined  an  equally  hon- 
orable record  with  a  longer  tenure. 

Fielding  was  born  at  Sharpham  Park  in  Somer- 
setshire, the  seat  of  his  maternal  grandfather ;  but 
most  of  his  early  youth  was  spent  at  East  Stour 
in  Dorsetshire,  to  which  his  father  removed  after 
the  judge's  death.  He  is  said  to  have  received 
his  first  education  under  a  parson  of  the  neigh- 
borhood named  Oliver,  in  whom  a  very  uncompli- 
mentary tradition  sees  the  original  of  Parson 
Trulliber.  He  was  then  certainly  sent  to  Eton, 
where  he  did  not  waste  his  time  as  regards  learn- 
ing, and  made  several  valuable  friends.  But  the 
dates  of  his  entering  and  leaving  school  are  alike 
unknown;  and  his  subsequent  sojourn  at  Leyden 
for  two  years — though  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt 
it — depends  even  less  upon  any  positive  docu- 
mentary evidence.  This  famous  University  still 
had  a  great  repute  as  a  training  school  in  law,  for 
which  profession  he  was  intended;  but  the  rea- 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

son  why  he  did  not  receive  the  even  then  far  more 
usual  completion  of  a  public  school  education  by  a 
sojourn  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge  may  be  suspected 
to  be  different.  It  may  even  have  had  something 
to  do  with  a  curious  escapade  of  his  about  which 
not  very  much  is  known — an  attempt  to  carry  off 
a  pretty  heiress  of  Lyme,  named  Sarah  Andrew. 
Even  at  Leyden,  however,  General  Fielding 
seems  to  have  been  unable  or  unwilling  to  pay  his 
son's  expenses,  which  must  have  been  far  less 
there  than  at  an  English  University;  and  Henry's 
return  to  London  in  1728-29  is  said  to  have  been 
due  to  sheer  impecuniosity.  When  he  returned  to 
England,  his  father  was  good  enough  to  make 
him  an  allowance  of  £200  nominal,  which  appears 
to  have  been  equivalent  to  £0  actual.  And  as 
practically  nothing  is  known  of  him  for  the  next 
six  or  seven  years,  except  the  fact  of  his  having 
worked  industriously  enough  at  a  large  number  of 
not  very  good  plays  of  the  lighter  kind,  with  a  few 
poems  and  miscellanies,  it  is  reasonably  enough 
supposed  that  he  lived  by  his  pen.  The  only  prod- 
uct of  this  period  which  has  kept  (or  indeed  which 
ever  received)  competent  applause  is  Tom  Thumb, 
or  the  Tragedy  of  Tragedies,  a  following  of  course 
of  the  Rehearsal,  but  full  of  humor  and  spirit, 
The  most  successful  of  his  other  dramatic  works 
were  the  Mock  Doctor  and  the  Miser,  adaptations 
of  Moliere's  famous  pieces.  His  undoubted  con- 
nection with  the  stage,  and  the  fact  of  the  contem- 
porary existence  of  a  certain  Timothy  Fielding, 
helped  suggestions  of  less  dignified  occupations 
as  actor,  booth-keeper,  and  so  forth  j  but  these 


INTRODUCTION  xy 

have  long  been  discredited  and  indeed  disproved. 
In  or  about  1735,  when  Fielding  was  twenty- 
eight,  we  find  him  in  a  new,  a  more  brilliant  and 
agreeable,  but  even  a  more  transient  phase.  He 
had  married  (we  do  not  know  when  or  where) 
Miss  Charlotte  Cradock,  one  of  three  sisters  who 
lived  at  Salisbury  (it  is  to  be  observed  that  Field- 
ing's entire  connections,  both  in  life  and  letters,  are 
with  the  Western  Counties  and  London),  who  were 
certainly  of  competent  means,  and  for  whose  al- 
leged illegitimacy  there  is  no  evidence  but  an  un- 
supported fling  of  that  old  maid  of  genius,  Rich- 
ardson. The  descriptions  both  of  Sophia  and  of 
Amelia  are  said  to  have  been  taken  from  this 
lady;  her  good  looks  and  her  amiability  are  as 
well  established  as  anything  of  the  kind  can  be  in 
the  absence  of  photographs  and  affidavits ;  and  it 
is  certain  that  her  husband  was  passionately  at- 
tached to  her,  during  their  too  short  married  life. 
His  method,  however,  of  showing  his  affection 
smacked  in  some  ways  too  much  of  the  foibles 
which  he  has  attributed  to  Captain  Booth,  and  of 
those  which  we  must  suspect  Mr.  Thomas  Jones 
would  also  have  exhibited,  if  he  had  not  been 
adopted  as  Mr.  Allworthy's  heir,  and  had  not  had 
Mr.  Western's  fortune  to  share  and  look  forward 
to.  It  is  true  that  grave  breaches  have  been  made 
by  recent  criticism  in  the  very  picturesque  and  cir- 
cumstantial story  told  on  the  subject  by  Murphy, 
the  first  of  Fielding's  biographers.  This  legend 
was  that  Fielding,  having  succeeded  by  the  death 
of  his  mother  to  a  small  estate  at  East  Stour, 
worth  about  £200   a  year,   and  having  received 


xvi  INTEODUCTION 

£1500  in  ready  money  as  liis  wife's  fortune,  got 
through  the  whole  in  three  years  by  keeping  open 
house,  with  a  large  retinue  in  ''costly  yellow 
liveries,"  and  so  forth.  In  details,  this  story  has 
been  simph^  riddled.  His  mother  had  died  long 
before;  he  was  certainly  not  away  from  London 
three  years,  or  anything  like  it ;  and  so  forth.  At 
the  same  time,  the  best  and  soberest  judges  agree 
that  there  is  an  intrinsic  probability,  a  consensus 
(if  a  vague  one)  of  tradition,  and  a  chain  of  al- 
most unmistakably  personal  references  in  the 
novels,  which  plead  for  a  certain  amount  of  truth, 
at  the  bottom  of  a  much  embellished  legend.  At 
any  rate,  if  Fielding  established  himself  in  the 
country,  it  was  not  long  before  he  returned  to 
town;  for  early  in  1736  we  find  him  back  again, 
and  not  merely  a  playwright,  but  lessee  of  the 
''Little  Theater"  in  the  Haymarket.  The  plays 
which  he  produced  here — satirico-political  pieces, 
such  as  Pasquin  and  the  Historical  Register — • 
were  popular  enough,  but  offended  the  Govern- 
ment ;  and  in  1737  a  new  bill  regulating  theatrical 
l^erformances,  and  instituting  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain's control,  was  passed.  This  measure  put  an 
end  directly  to  the  "Great  Mogul's  Company,"  as 
Fielding  had  called  his  troop,  and  indirectly  to  its 
manager's  career  as  a  playwright.  He  did  in- 
deed write  a  few  pieces  in  future  years,  but  they 
were  of  the  smallest  importance. 

After  this  check  he  turned  at  last  to  a  serious 
profession,  entered  himself  of  the  Middle  Temple 
in  November  of  the  same  year,  and  was  called 
three  years  later ;  but  during  these  years,  and  in- 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

deed  for  some  time  afterwards,  our  information 
about  him  is  still  of  the  vaguest  character.  No- 
body doubts  that  he  had  a  large  share  in  the 
Champion,  an  essay-periodical  on  the  usual  eight- 
eenth-century model,  which  began  to  appear  in 
1739,  and  which  is  still  occasionally  consulted  for 
the  work  that  is  certainly  or  probably  his.  He 
went  the  Western  Circuit,  and  attended  the  Wilt- 
shire Sessions,  after  he  was  called,  giving  up  his 
contributions  to  periodicals  soon  after  that  event. 
But  he  soon  returned  to  literature  proper,  or 
rather  made  his  debut  in  it,  with  the  immortal 
book  now  republished.  The  History  of  the  Ad- 
ventures of  Joseph  Andreics,  and  his  Friend  Mr. 
Ahraliam  Adams,  appeared  in  February  1742,  and 
its  author  received  from  Andrew  Millar,  the  pub- 
lisher, the  sum  of  £183,  lis.  Even  greater  works 
have  fetched  much  smaller  sums ;  but  it  will  be  ad- 
mitted that  Joseph  Andrews  was  not  dear. 

The  advantage,  however,  of  presenting  a  survey 
of  an  author's  life  uninterrupted  by  criticism  is 
so  clear,  that  what  has  to  be  said  about  Joseph 
may  be  conveniently  postponed  for  the  moment. 
Immediately  after  its  publication  the  author  fell 
back  upon  miscellaneous  writing,  and  in  the  next 
year  (1743)  collected  and  issued  three  volumes  of 
Miscellanies.  In  the  two  first  volumes  the  only 
thing  of  much  interest  is  the  unfinished  and  un- 
equal, but  in  part  powerful.  Journey  from  this 
World  to  the  Next,  an  attempt  of  a  kind  which 
Fontenelle  and  others,  following  Lucian,  had 
made  very  popular  with  the  time.  But  the  third 
volume  of  the  Miscellanies  deserved  a  less  modest 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

and  gregarious  appearance,  for  it  contained,  and 
is  wholly  occupied  by,  the  wonderful  and  terrible 
satire  of  Jonathan  Wild,  the  greatest  piece  of 
pure  irony  in  English  out  of  Swift.  Soon  after 
the  publication  of  the  book,  a  great  calamity  came 
on  Fielding.  His  wife  had  been  very  ill  when  he 
wrote  the  preface ;  soon  afterwards  she  was  dead. 
They  had  taken  the  chance,  had  made  the  choice, 
that  the  more  prudent  and  less  wise  student-hero 
and  heroine  of  Mr.  Browning's  Youth  and  Art 
had  shunned;  they  had  no  doubt  *' sighed  deep, 
laughed  free,  Starved,  feasted,  despaired,"  and 
we  need  not  question,  that  they  had  also  ''been 
happy." 

Except  this  sad  event  and  its  rather  incongru- 
ous sequel,  Fielding's  marriage  to  his  wife's 
maid  Mary  Daniel — a  marriage,  however,  which 
did  not  take  place  till  full  four  years  later,  and 
which  by  all  accounts  supplied  him  with  a  faithful 
and  excellent  companion  and  nurse,  and  his  chil- 
dren with  a  kind  stepmother — little  or  nothing  is 
again  known  of  this  elusive  man  of  genius  between 
the  publication  of  the  Miscellanies  in  1743,  and 
that  of  Tom  Jones  in  1749.  The  second  marriage 
itself  in  November  1747;  an  interview  which 
Joseph  Warton  had  with  him  rather  more  than  a 
year  earlier  (one  of  the  very  few  direct  interviews 
we  have) ;  the  publication  of  two  anti-Jacobite 
newspajoers  (Fielding  was  always  a  strong  Whig 
and  Hanoverian),  called  the  True  Patriot  and  the 
Jacobite's  Journal,  in  1745  and  the  following 
years;  some  indistinct  traditions  about  residences 
at  Twickenham  and  elsewhere,  and  some,  more 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

precise  but  not  much  more  authenticated,  respect- 
ing patronage  by  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  Mr.  Lyttel- 
ton,  Mr.  Allen,  and  others,  pretty  well  sum  up  the 
whole. 

Tom  Jones  was  published  in  February  (a  favor- 
ite month  with  Fielding  or  his  publisher  Millar)] 
1749;  and  as  it  brought  him  the,  for  those  days, 
very  considerable  sum  of  £600,  to  which  Millar 
added  another  hundred  later,  the  novelist  must 
have  been,  for  a  time  at  any  rate,  relieved  from  his 
chronic  penury.  But  he  had  already,  by  Lyttel- 
ton's  interest,  secured  his  first  and  last  piece  of 
preferment,  being  made  Justice  of  the  Peace  for 
Westminster,  an  office  on  which  he  entered  with 
characteristic  vigor.  He  was  qualified  for  it  not 
merely  by  a  solid  knowledge  of  the  law,  and  by 
great  natural  abilities,  but  by  his  thorough  kind- 
ness of  heart ;  and,  perhaps,  it  may  also  be  added, 
by  his  long  years  of  queer  experience  on  (as  Mr. 
Carlyle  would  have  said)  the  ''burning  marl"  of 
the  London  Bohemia.  Very  shortly  afterwards 
he  was  chosen  Chairman  of  Quarter  Sessions,  and 
established  himself  in  Bow  Street.  The  Bow 
Street  magistrate  of  that  time  occupied  a  most 
singular  position,  and  was  more  like  a  French 
Prefect  of  Police  or  even  a  Minister  of  Public 
Safety  than  a  mere  justice.  Yet  he  was  ill  paid. 
Fielding  says  that  the  emoluments,  which  before 
his  accession  had  but  been  £500  a  year  of  ''dirty" 
money,  were  by  his  own  action  but  £300  of  clean ; 
and  the  work,  if  properly  performed,  was  very 
severe. 

That  he  performed  it  properly  all  competent 


XX 


INTRODUCTION 


evidence  shows,  a  foolish,  inconclusive,  and  I  fear 
it  must  be  said  emphatically  snobbish  story  of 
Walpole's  notwithstanding.  In  particular,  he 
broke  up  a  gang  of  cut-throat  thieves,  which  had 
been  the  terror  of  London.  But  his  tenure  of  the 
post  was  short  enough,  and  scarcely  extended  to 
five  years.  His  health  had  long  been  broken,  and 
he  was  now  constantly  attacked  by  gout,  so  that  he 
had  frequently  to  retreat  on  Bath  from  Bow 
Street,  or  his  suburban  cottage  of  Fordhook,  Eal- 
ing. But  he  did  not  relax  his  literary  work. 
His  pen  was  active  with  pamphlets  concerning  his 
office;  Amelia,  his  last  novel,  aj^peared  towards  the 
close  of  1751 ;  and  next  year  saw  the  beginning  of 
a  new  paper,  the  Covent  Garden  Journal,  which 
appeared  twice  a  week,  ran  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  year,  and  died  in  November.  Its  great 
author  did  not  see  that  month  twice  again.  In  the 
spring  of  1753  he  grew  worse;  and  after  a  year's 
struggle  with  ill  health,  hard  work,  and  hard 
weather,  lesser  measures  being  pronounced  use- 
less, was  persuaded  to  try  the  ''Portugal  Voyage," 
of  which  he  has  left  so  charming  a  record  in  the 
Journey  to  Lisbon.  He  left  Fordhook  on  June 
26,  1754,  reached  Lisbon  in  August,  and,  dying 
there  on  the  8th  of  October,  was  buried  in  the 
cemetery  of  the  Estrella. 

Of  not  many  writers  perhaps  does  a  clearer 
notion,  as  far  as  their  personality  goes,  exist  in 
the  general  mind  that  interests  itself  at  all  in  lit- 
erature than  of  Fielding.  Yet  more  than  once  a 
warning  has  been  sounded,  especially  by  his  best 
and  most  recent  biographer,  to  the  effect  that  this 


INTRODUCTION  xxl 

idea  is  founded  upon  very  little  warranty  of  scrip- 
ture. The  truth  is,  that  as  the  foregoing  record 
— which,  brief  as  it  is,  is  a  sufficiently  faithful 
summary — will  have  shown,  we  know  very  little 
about  Fielding.  We  have  hardly  any  letters  of 
his,  and  so  lack  the  best  by  far  and  the  most  re- 
vealing of  all  character-portraits ;  we  have  but  one 
important  autobiographic  fragment,  and  though 
that  is  of  the  highest  interest  and  value,  it  was 
written  far  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  it 
is  not  in  the  least  retrospective,  and  it  affords  but 
dim  and  inferential  light  on  his  younger,  healthier, 
and  happier  days  and  ways.  He  came,  more- 
over, just  short  of  one  set  of  men  of  letters,  of 
whom  we  have  a  great  deal  of  personal  knowledge, 
and  just  beyond  another.  He  was  neither  of  those 
about  Addison,  nor  of  those  about  Johnson.  No 
intimate  friend  of  his  has  left  us  anything  elabo- 
rate about  him.  On  the  other  hand,  we  have  a  far 
from  inconsiderable'  body  of  documentary  evi- 
dence, of  a  kind  often  by  no  means  trustworthy. 
The  best  part  of  it  is  contained  in  the  letters  of 
his  cousin.  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  and 
the  reminiscences  or  family  traditions  of  her 
grand-daughter.  Lady  Louisa  Stuart.  But  Lady 
Mary,  vivacious  and  agreeable  as  she  is,  had  with 
all  her  talent  a  very  considerable  knack  of  writing 
for  effect,  of  drawing  strong  contrasts  and  the 
like;  and  it  is  not  quite  certain  that  she  saw  very 
much  of  Fielding  in  the  last  and  most  interesting 
third  of  his  life.  Another  witness,  Horace  Wal- 
pole,  to  less  knowledge  and  equally  dubious  ac- 
curacy, added  decided  ill-will,  which  may  have  been 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

due  partly  to  the  shrinking  of  a  dilettante  and  a 
fop  from  a  burly  Bohemian ;  but  I  fear  is  also  con- 
sequent upon  the  fact  that  Horace  could  not  af- 
ford to  despise  Fielding's  birth,  and  knew  him 
to  be  vastly  his  own  superior  in  genius.  We  hear 
something  of  him  again  from  Richardson;  and 
Richardson  hated  him  with  the  hatred  of  dis- 
similar genius,  of  inferior  social  position,  and, 
lastly,  of  the  cat  for  the  dog  who  tousles  and 
worries  her.  Johnson  partly  inherited  or  shared 
Richardson's  aversion,  partly  was  blinded  to 
Fielding's  genius  by  his  aggressive  AVhiggery.  I 
fear,  too,  that  he  was  incapable  of  appreciating  it 
for  reasons  other  than  political.  It  is  certain  that 
Johnson,  sane  and  robust  as  he  was,  was  never 
quite  at  ease  before  genius  of  the  gigantic  kind, 
either  in  dead  or  living.  Whether  he  did  not  like 
to  have  to  look  up  too  much,  or  was  actually  un- 
able to  do  so,  it  is  certain  that  Shakespeare,  Mil- 
ton, Swift,  and  Fielding,  those  four  Atlantes  of 
English  verse  and  prose,  all  affected  him  with  luke- 
warm admiration,  or  with  positive  dislike,  for 
which  it  is  vain  to  attempt  to  assign  any  uniform 
secondary  cause,  political  or  other.  It  may  be 
permitted  to  hint  another  reason.  All  Johnson's 
most  sharp-sighted  critics  have  noticed,  though 
most  have  discreetly  refrained  from  insisting  on, 
his  ''thorn-in-the-flesh,"  the  combination  in  him 
of  very  strong  physical  passions  with  the  deepest 
sense  of  the  moral  and  religious  duty  of  abstinence. 
It  is  perhaps  impossible  to  imagine  anything  more 
distasteful  to  a  man  so  buffeted,  than  the  extreme 
indulgence  with  which  Fielding  regards,  and  the 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

easy  freedom^  not  to  say  gusto,  with  which  he  de- 
picts, those  who  succumb  to  similar  temptation. 
Only  by  supposing  the  workings  of  some  subtle 
influence  of  this  kind  is  it  possible  to  explain,  even 
in  so  capricious  a  humor  as  Johnson's,  the  fa- 
mous and  absurd  application  of  the  term  "barren 
rascal"  to  a  writer  who,  dying  almost  young,  after 
having  for  many  years  lived  a  life  of  pleasure, 
and  then  for  four  or  five  one  of  laborious  official 
duty,  has  left  work  anything  but  small  in  actual 
bulk,  and  fertile  with  the  most  luxuriant  growth 
of  intellectual  originality. 

Partly  on  the  obiter  dicta  of  persons  like  these, 
partly  on  the  still  more  tempting  and  still  more 
treacherous  ground  of  indications  drawn  from  his 
works,  a  Fielding  of  fantasy  has  been  constructed, 
which  in  Thackeray's  admirable  sketch  attains  real 
life  and  immortality  as  a  creature  of  art,  but 
which  possesses  rather  dubious  claims  as  a  histori- 
cal character.  It  is  astonishing  how  this  Fielding 
of  fantasy  sinks  and  shrivels  when  we  begin  to 
apply  the  horrid  tests  of  criticism  to  his  component 
parts.  The  eidolon,  with  inked  rufHes  and  a  towel 
round  his  head,  sits  in  the  Temple  and  dashes  oif 
articles  for  the  Covent  Garden  Journal;  then 
comes  Criticism,  hellish  maid,  and  reminds  us  that 
when  the  Covent  Garden  Journal  appeared,  Field- 
ing's wild  oats,  if  ever  sown  at  all,  had  been  sown 
long  ago ;  that  he  was  a  busy  magistrate  and  house- 
holder in  Bow  Street;  and  that,  if  he  had  towels 
round  his  head,  it  was  probably  less  because  he 
had  exceeded  in  liquor  than  because  his  Grace  of 
Newcastle  had  given  him  a  headache  by  wanting 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

elaborate  plans  and  schemes  prepared  at  an  hour's 
notice.  Lady  Mary,  apparently  with  some  envy, 
tells  us  that  he  could  "feel  rapture  with  his  cook- 
maid."  ''Which  many  has,"  as  Mr,  Ridley  re- 
marks, from  Xanthias  Phoceus  downwards ;  but 
when  we  remember  the  historic  fact  that  he  mar- 
ried this  maid  (not  a  ''cx)ok-maid"  at  all),  and 
that  though  he  always  speaks  of  her  with  warm  af- 
fection and  hearty  respect,  such  ''raptures"  as  we 
have  of  his  clearly  refer  to  a  very  different  woman, 
who  was  both  a  lady  and  a  beautiful  one,  we  be- 
gin a  little  to  shake  our  heads.  Horace  Walpole 
at  second-hand  draws  us  a  Fielding,  pigging  with 
low  companions  in  a  house  kept  like  a  hedge 
tavern;  Fielding  himself,  within  a  year  or  two, 
shows  us  more  than  half-undesignedly  in  the  Voy- 
age to  Lisbon  that  he  was  very  careful  about  the 
appointments  and  decency  of  his  table,  that  he 
stood  rather  upon  ceremony  in  regard  to  his  own 
treatment  of  his  family,  and  the  treatment  of 
them  and  himself  by  others,  and  that  he  was  alto- 
gether a  person  orderly,  correct,  and  even  a  little 
finikin.  Nor  is  there  the  slightest  reasonable  rea- 
son to  regard  this  as  a  piece  of  hypocrisy,  a  vice 
as  alien  from  the  Fielding  of  fancy  as  from  the 
Fielding  of  fact,  and  one  the  particular  manifesta- 
tion of  which,  in  this  particular  place,  would  have 
been  equally  unlikely  and  unintelligible. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  I  propose  to  substitute 
for  the  traditional  Fielding  a  quite  ditferent  per- 
son, of  regular  habits  and  methodical  economy. 
Certainly  not.  The  traditional  estimate  of  great 
men  is  rarely  wrong  altogether,  but  it  constantly 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

has  a  habit  of  exaggerating  and  dramatizing  their 
characteristics.  For  some  things  in  Fielding's 
career  we  have  positive  evidence  of  document,  and 
evidence  hardly  less  certain  of  probability.  Al- 
though I  believe  the  best  judges  are  now  of  opinion 
that  his  impecuniosity  has  been  overcharged,  he 
certainly  had  experiences  which  did  not  often  fall 
to  the  lot  of  even  a  cadet  of  good  family  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  There  can  be  no  reasonable 
doubt  that  he  was  a  man  who  had  a  leaning  to- 
wards pretty  girls  and  bottles  of  good  wine ;  and 
I  should  suppose  that  if  the  girl  were  kind  and 
fairly  winsome,  he  would  not  have  insisted  that 
she  should  possess  Helen's  beauty,  that  if  the  bot- 
tle of  good  wine  were  not  forthcoming,  he  would 
have  been  very  tolerant  of  a  mug  of  good  ale.  He 
may  very  possibly  have  drunk  more  than  he 
should,  and  lost  more  than  he  could  conveniently 
pay.  It  may  be  put  down  as  morally  ascertained 
that  towards  all  these  weaknesses  of  humanity, 
and  others  like  unto  them,  he  held  an  attitude 
which  was  less  that  of  the  unassailable  philosopher 
than  that  of  the  sympathizer,  indulgent  and  excus- 
ing. In  regard  more  especially  to  what  are  com- 
monly called  moral  delinquencies,  this  attitude 
was  so  decided  as  to  shock  some  people  even  in 
those  days,  and  many  in  these.  Just  when  the 
first  sheets  of  this  edition  were  passing  through 
the  press,  a  violent  attack  was  made  in  a  news- 
paper correspondence  on  the  morality  of  Tom 
Jones  by  certain  notorious  advocates  of  Purity, 
as  some  say,  of  Pruriency  and  Prudery  combined, 
according  to  less  complimentary  estimates.    Even 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

midway  between  the  two  periods  we  find  the  ad- 
mirable Miss  Ferrier,  a  sister  of  Fielding's  own 
craft,  who  sometimes  had  touches  of  nature  and 
satire  not  far  inferior  to  his  own,  expressing  by 
the  mouth  of  one  of  her  characters  with  whom 
she  seemed  partly  to  agree,  the  sentiment  that  his 
works  are  "vanishing  like  noxious  exhalations." 
Towards  any  misdoing  by  persons  of  the  one  sex 
towards  persons  of  the  other,  when  it  involved 
brutality  or  treachery,  Fielding  was  pitiless ;  but 
when  treachery  and  brutality  were  not  concerned, 
he  was,  to  say  the  least,  facile.  So,  too,  he  prob- 
ably knew  by  experience — he  certainly  knew  by 
native  shrewdness  and  acquired  observation — 
that  to  look  too  much  on  the  wine  when  it  is  red, 
or  on  the  cards  wiien  they  are  parti-colored,  is 
ruinous  to  health  and  fortune ;  but  he  thought  not 
over  badly  of  any  man  who  did  these  things.  Still 
it  is  possible  to  admit  this  in  him,  and  to  stop  short 
of  that  idea  of  a  careless  and  reckless  viveur  which 
has  so  often  been  put  forward.  In  particular, 
Lady  Mary's  view  of  his  childlike  enjoyment  of 
the  moment  has  been,  I  think,  much  exaggerated 
by  posterity,  and  was  probably  not  a  little  mistaken 
by  the  lady  herself.  There  are  two  moods  in 
which  the  motto  is  Carpe  diem;  one  a  mood  of 
simply  childish  hurry,  the  other  one  where  behind 
the  enjoj'ment  of  the  moment  lurks,  and  in  which 
the  enjoyment  of  the  moment  is  not  a  little 
heightened  by,  that  vast  ironic  consciousness  of 
the  before  and  after,  which  I  at  least  see  every- 
where in  the  background  of  Fielding's  work. 
,     The  man,  however,  of  whom  we  know  so  little, 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

concerns  us  much  less  than  the  author  of  the 
works,  of  which  it  only  rests  with  ourselves  to 
know  everything.  I  have  above  classed  Field- 
ing as  one  of  the  four  Atlantes  of  English  verse 
and  prose,  and  I  doubt  not  that  both  the  phrase 
and  the  application  of  it  to  him  will  meet  with 
question  and  demur.  I  have  only  to  interject,  as 
the  critic  so  often  has  to  interject,  a  request  to 
the  court  to  take  what  I  say  in  the  sense  in  which 
I  say  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Swift,  and  Fielding  are  in  all  or  even  in  most  re- 
spects on  a  level.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  three 
last  are  in  all  respects  of  the  greatest  names  in 
English  literature.  I  only  mean  that,  in  a  cer- 
tain quality,  which  for  want  of  a  better  word  I 
have  chosen  to  call  Atlantean,  they  stand  alone. 
Each  of  them,  for  the  metaphor  is  applicable 
either  way,  carries  a  whole  world  on  his  shoulders, 
or  looks  down  on  a  whole  world  from  his  natural 
altitude.  The  worlds  are  different,  but  they  are 
worlds;  and  though  the  attitude  of  the  giants  is 
different  also,  it  agrees  in  all  of  them  on  the 
points  of  competence  and  strength.  Take  whom- 
soever else  we  may  among  our  men  of  letters,  and 
we  shall  find  this  characteristic  to  be  in  compari- 
son wanting.  These  four  carry  their  world,  and 
are  not  carried  by  it ;  and  if  it,  in  the  language  so 
dear  to  Fielding  himself,  were  to  crash  and  shatter, 
the  inquiry,  ^'Que  vous  reste-t-il?"  could  be  an- 
swered by  each,  ^'Moi!" 

The  appearance  which  Fielding  makes  is  no 
doubt  the  most  modest  of  the  four.  He  has  not 
Shakespeare's  absolute  universality,  and  in  fact 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION 

not  merely  the  poet's  tongue,  but  the  poet's 
thought  seems  to  have  been  denied  him.  His 
sphere  is  not  the  ideal  like  Milton's.  His  irony, 
splendid  as  it  is,  falls  a  little  short  of  that  diaboli- 
cal magnijScence  which  exalts  Swift  to  the  point 
whence,  in  his  own  way,  he  surveys  all  the  king- 
doms of  the  world,  and  the  glory  or  vainglory  of 
them.  All  Fielding's  critics  have  noted  the  man- 
ner, in  a  certain  sense  modest,  in  another  ostenta- 
tious, in  which  he  seems  to  confine  himself  to  the 
presentation  of  things  English.  They  might  have 
added  to  the  presentation  of  things  English — as 
they  appear  in  London,  and  on  the  Western  Cir- 
cuit, and  on  the  Bath  Road. 

But  this  apparent  parochialism  has  never  de- 
ceived good  judges.  It  did  not  deceive  Lady 
Mary,  who  had  seen  the  men  and  manners  of  very 
many  climes;  it  did  not  deceive  Gibbon,  who  was 
not  especially  prone  to  overvalue  things  English, 
and  who  could  look  down  from  twenty  centuries 
on  things  ephemeral.  It  deceives,  indeed,  I  am 
told,  some  excellent  persons  at  the  present  day, 
who  think  Fielding's  microcosm  a  ''toylike 
world,"  and  imagine  that  Russian  Nihilists  and 
French  Naturalists  have  gone  beyond  it.  It  will 
deceive  no  one  who  has  lived  for  some  competent 
space  of  time  a  life  during  which  he  has  tried  to 
regard  his  fellow-creatures  and  himself,  as  nearly 
as  a  mortal  may,  stih  specie  (rtemitatis. 

As  tliis  is  in  the  main  an  introduction  to  a  com- 
plete reprint  of  Fielding's  four  great  novels,  the 
justification  in  detail  of  the  estimate  just  made 
or  hinted  of  the  novelist's  genius  will  be  best  and 


INTRODUCTION  xxix 

most  fitly  made  by  a  brief  successive  discussion  of 
the  four  as  they  are  here  presented,  with  some 
subsequent  remarks  on  the  Miscellanies  here  se- 
lected. And,  indeed,  it  is  not  fanciful  to  perceive 
in  each  book  a  somewhat  different  presentment  of 
the  author's  genius;  though  in  no  one  of  the  four 
is  any  one  of  his  masterly  qualities  absent.  There 
is  tenderness  even  in  Jonathmi  Wild;  there  are 
touches  in  Joseph  Andreivs  of  that  irony  of  the 
Preacher,  the  last  echo  of  which  is  heard  amid  the 
kindly  resignation  of  the  Journey  to  Lisbon,  in 
the  sentence,  "Whereas  envy  of  all  things  most 
exposes  us  to  danger  from  others,  so  contempt  of 
all  things  best  secures  us  from  them."  But  on 
the  whole  it  is  safe  to  say  that  Joseph  Andreivs 
best  presents  Fielding's  mischievous  and  playful 
wit;  Jonathan  Wild  his  half-Lucianic  half-Swift- 
ian  irony;  Tom  Jones  his  unerring  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  and  his  constructive  faculty; 
Amelia  his  tenderness,  his  mitis  sapientia,  his  ob- 
servation of  the  details  of  life.  And  first  of  the 
first. 

The  History  of  the  Adventures  of  Joseph  An- 
dreivs and  his  Friend  Mr.  Abraham  Adams  was, 
as  has  been  said  above,  published  in  February 
1742.  A  facsimile  of  the  agreement  between  au- 
thor and  publisher  will  be  given  in  the  second  vol- 
ume of  this  series;  and  it  is  not  uninteresting  to 
observe  that  the  witness,  William  Young,  is  none 
other  than  the  asserted  original  of  the  immortal 
Mr.  Adams  himself.  He  might,  on  Balzac's  plea 
in  a  tolerably  well-known  anecdote,  have  demanded 
half  of  the  £183,lls.     Of  the  other  origins  of  the 


XXX  INTRODUCTION 

book  we  have  a  pretty  full  account,  partly  docu- 
mentary. That  it  is  "writ  in  the  manner  of  Cer- 
vantes," and  is  intended  as  a  kind  of  comic  epic, 
is  the  author's  own  statement — no  doubt  as  near 
the  actual  truth  as  is  consistent  with  comic-epic 
theory.  That  there  are  resemblances  to  Scarron, 
to  Le  Sage,  and  to  other  practitioners  of  the 
Picaresque  novel  is  certain;  and  it  was  inevitable 
that  there  should  be.  Of  directer  and  more  im- 
mediate models  or  starting-points  one  is  un- 
doubted; the  other,  though  less  generally  ad- 
mitted, not  much  less  indubitable  to  my  mind. 
The  parody  of  Richardson's  Pamela,  which  was 
little  more  than  a  year  earlier  (Nov.  1740),  is 
avowed,  open,  flagrant;  nor  do  I  think  that  the 
author  was  so  soon  carried  away  by  the  greater 
and  larger  tide  of  his  own  invention  as  some  critics 
seem  to  hold.  He  is  always  more  or  less  return- 
ing to  the  ironic  charge;  and  the  multiplicity  of 
the  assailants  of  Joseph's  virtue  only  disguises 
the  resemblance  to  the  long-drawn  dangers  of 
Pamela  from  a  single  ravisher.  But  Fielding 
was  also  well  acquainted  with  Marivaux's  Paysan 
Parvenu,  and  the  resemblances  between  that  book 
and  Joseph  Andrews  are  much  stronger  than 
Fielding's  admirers  have  always  been  willing  to 
admit.  This  recalcitrance  has,  I  think,  been 
mainly  due  to  the  erroneous  conception  of  Mari- 
vaux  as,  if  not  a  mere  fribble,  yet  a  Dresden- 
Shepherdess  kind  of  writer,  good  at  ''precious- 
ness"  and  patch-and-powder  manners,  but  nothing 
more.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  very  strong  satiric 
and  ironic  touch  in  the  author  of  Marianne,  and  I 


INTRODUCTION  xxxi 

do  not  think  that  I  was  too  rash  when  some  years 
ago  I  ventured  to  speak  of  him  as  ''playing  Field- 
ing to  his  own  Richardson"  in  the  Paysan  Par- 
venu. 

Origins,  however,  and  indebtedness  and  the  like, 
are,  when  great  work  is  concerned,  questions  for 
the  study  and  the  lecture-room,  for  the  literary 
historian  and  the  professional  critic,  rather  than 
for  the  reader,  however  intelligent  and  alert,  who 
wishes  to  enjoy  a  masterpiece,  and  is  content  sim- 
ply to  enjoy  it.  It  does  not  really  matter  how 
close  to  anything  else  something  which  possesses 
independent  goodness  is ;  the  very  utmost  technical 
originality,  the  most  spotless  purity  from  the 
faintest  taint  of  suggestion,  will  not  suffice  to  con- 
fer merit  on  what  does  not  otherwise  possess  it. 
Whether,  as  I  rather  think.  Fielding  pursued  the 
plan  he  had  formed  ah  incepto,  or  whether  he 
cavalierly  neglected  it,  or  whether  the  current  of 
his  own  genius  carried  him  off  his  legs  and  landed 
him,  half  against  his  will,  on  the  shore  of  original- 
ity, are  questions  for  the  Schools,  and,  as  I  venture 
to  think,  not  for  the  higher  forms  in  them.  We 
have  Joseph  Andrews  as  it  is;  and  we  may  be 
abundantly  thankful  for  it.  The  contents  of  it, 
as  of  all  Fielding's  work  in  this  kind,  include  cer- 
tain things  for  which  the  moderns  are  scantly 
grateful.  Of  late  years,  and  not  of  late  years  only, 
there  has  grown  up  a  singular  and  perhaps  an  ig- 
norant impatience  of  digressions,  of  episodes,  of 
tales  within  a  tale.  The  example  of  this  which 
has  been  most  maltreated  is  the  "Man  of  the  Hill" 
episode  in  Tom  Jones;  but  the  stories  of  the  "Un- 


xxxu 


INTRODUCTION 


fortunate  Jilt"  and  of  Mr.  \yilson  in  our  present 
subject,  do  not  appear  to  me  to  be  much  less  ob- 
noxious to  the  censure;  and  Amelia  contains  more 
than  one  or  two  things  of  the  same  kind.  Me  they 
do  not  greatly  disturb;  and  I  see  many  defenses 
for  them  besides  the  obvious,  and  at  a  pinch  suf- 
ficient one,  that  divagations  of  this  kind  existed 
in  all  Fielding's  Spanish  and  French  models,  that 
the  public  of  the  day  expected  them,  and  so  forth. 
This  defense  is  enough,  but  it  is  easy  to  amplify 
and  reintrench  it.  It  is  not  by  any  means  the  fact 
that  the  Picaresque  novel  of  adventure  is  the  only 
or  the  chief  form  of  fiction  which  prescribes  or 
admits  these  episodic  excursions.  All  the  classical 
epics  have  them;  many  eastern  and  other  stories 
present  them ;  they  are  common,  if  not  invariable, 
in  the  abundant  mediaeval  literature  of  prose  and 
verse  romance;  they  are  not  unknown  by  any 
means  in  the  modern  novel;  and  you  will  very 
rarely  hear  a  story  told  orally  at  the  dinner-table 
or  in  the  smoking-room  without  something  of  the 
kind.  There  must,  therefore,  be  something  in 
them  corresponding  to  an  inseparable  accident  of 
that  most  unchanging  of  all  things,  human  nature. 
And  I  do  not  think  the  special  form  with  which 
we  are  here  concerned  by  any  means  the  worst 
that  they  have  taken.  It  has  the  grand  and  promi- 
nent virtue  of  being  at  once  and  easily  skippable. 
There  is  about  Cervantes  and  Le  Sage,  about 
Fielding  and  Smollett,  none  of  the  treachery  of  the 
modern  novelist,  who  induces  the  conscientious 
reader  to  drag  through  pages,  chapters,  and  some- 
times volumes  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

action,  for  fear  he  should  miss  something  that  has 
to  do  with  it.  These  great  men  have  a  fearless 
frankness,  and  almost  tell  you  in  so  many  words 
when  and  what  you  may  skip.  Therefore,  if  the 
"Curious  Impertinent,"  and  the  "Baneful  Mar- 
riage," and  the  "Man  of  the  Hill,"  and  the  "Lady 
of  Quality,"  get  in  the  way,  when  you  desire  to 
"read  for  the  story,"  you  have  nothing  to  do  but 
turn  the  page  till  finis  comes.  The  defense  has 
already  been  made  by  an  illustrious  hand  for 
Fielding's  inter-chapters  and  exordiums.  It  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be  almost  more  applicable  to  his 
insertions. 

And  so  we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  any  more 
either  about  the  insertions  or  about  the  exordiums. 
They  both  please  me;  the  second  class  has  pleased 
persons  much  better  worth  pleasing  than  I  can 
pretend  to  be ;  but  the  making  or  marring  of  the 
book  lies  elsewhere.  I  do  not  think  that  it  lies  in 
the  construction,  though  Fielding's  following  of 
the  ancients,  both  sincere  and  satiric,  has  imposed 
a  false  air  of  regularity  upon  that.  The  Odyssey 
of  Joseph,  of  Fanny,  and  of  their  ghostly  mentor 
and  bodily  guard  is,  in  truth,  a  little  haphazard, 
and  might  have  been  longer  or  shorter  without 
any  discreet  man  approving  it  the  more  or  the 
less  therefor.  The  real  merits  lie  partly  in  the 
abounding  humor  and  satire  of  the  artist's  criti- 
cism, but  even  more  in  the  marvelous  vivacity 
and  fertility  of  his  creation.  For  the  very  first 
time  in  English  prose  fiction  every  character  is 
alive,  every  incident  is  capable  of  having  hap- 
pened.    There  are  lively  touches  in  the   Eliza- 


xxxlv  INTRODUCTION 

bethan  romances ;  but  they  are  buried  in  verbiage, 
swathed  in  stage  costume,  choked  and  fettered  by 
their  author's  want  of  art.  The  quality  of  Bun- 
yan's  knowledge  of  men  was  not  much  inferior  to 
Shakespeare's,  or  at  least  to  Fielding's;  but  the 
range  and  the  results  of  it  were  cramped  by  his 
single  thaological  purpose,  and  his  unvaried  alle- 
goric or  typical  form.  Why  Defoe  did  not  dis- 
cover the  New  World  of  Fiction,  I  at  least  have 
never  been  able  to  put  into  any  brief  critical  for- 
mula that  satisfies  me,  and  I  have  never  seen  it 
put  by  any  one  else.  He  had  not  only  seen  it  afar 
off,  he  had  made  landings  and  descents  on  it;  he 
had  carried  off  and  exhibited  in  triumph  natives 
such  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  as  Man  Friday,  as  Moll 
Flanders,  as  William  the  Quaker ;  but  he  had  con- 
quered, subdued,  and  settled  no  province  therein. 
I  like  Pamela;  I  like  it  better  than  some  persons 
who  admire  Richardson  on  the  whole  more  than  I 
do,  seem  to  like  it.  But,  as  in  all  its  author's 
work,  the  handling  seems  to  me  academic — the 
working  out  on  paper  of  an  ingeniously  conceived 
problem  rather  than  the  observation  or  evolution 
of  actual  or  possible  life.  I  should  not  greatly 
fear  to  push  the  comparison  even  into  foreign 
countries;  but  it  is  well  to  observe  limits.  Let 
us  be  content  with  holding  that  in  England  at 
least,  without  prejudice  to  anything  further. 
Fielding  was  the  first  to  display  the  qualities  of 
the  perfect  novelist  as  distinguished  from  the  ro- 
mancer. 

What  are  those  qualities,  as  shown  in  Joseph 
Andrews?    The  faculty  of  arranging  a  probable 


INTRODUCTION  xxxy 

and  interesting  course  of  action  is  one,  of  course, 
and  Fielding  showed  it  here.  But  I  do  not  think 
that  it  is  at  any  time  the  greatest  one ;  and  nobody 
denies  that  he  made  great  advances  in  this  direc- 
tion later.  The  faculty  of  lively  dialogue  is  an- 
other ;  and  that  he  has  not  often  been  refused ;  but 
much  the  same  may  be  said  of  it.  The  interspers- 
ing of  appropriate  description  is  another ;  but  here 
also  we  shall  not  find  him  exactly  a  paragon.  It  is 
in  character — the  chief  differentia  of  the  novel  as 
distinguished  not  merely  from  its  elder  sister  the 
romance,  and  its  cousin  the  drama,  but  still  more 
from  every  other  kind  of  literature — that  Fielding 
stands  even  here  pre-eminent.  No  one  that  I  can 
think  of,  except  his  greatest  successor  in  the  pres- 
ent century,  has  the  same  unfailing  gift  of  breath- 
ing life  into  every  character  he  creates  or  borrows ; 
and  even  Thackeray  draws,  if  I  may  use  the 
phrase,  his  characters  more  in  the  flat  and  less  in 
the  round  than  Fielding.  Whether  in  Blifil  he 
once  failed,  we  must  discuss  hereafter;  he  has 
failed  nowhere  in  Joseph  Andrews.  Some  of  his 
sketches  may  require  the  caution  that  they  are 
eighteenth-century  men  and  women;  some  the 
warning  that  they  are  obviously  caricatured,  or 
set  in  designed  profile,  or  merely  sketched.  But 
they  are  all  alive.  The  finical  estimate  of  Gray 
(it  is  a  horrid  joy  to  think  how  perfectly  capable 
Fielding  waa  of  having  joined  in  that  practical 
joke  of  the  youn^  gentlemen  of  Cambridge,  which 
made  Gray  change  his  college),  while  dismissing 
these  light  things  with  patronage,  had  to  admit 
that  "parson  Adams  is  perfectly  well,  so  is  Mrs. 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION 

Slipslop."  ''They  ivere,  Mr.  Gray,"  said  some 
one  once,  ''they  were  more  perfectly  well,  and  in 
a  higher  kind,  than  anything  you  ever  did ;  though 
you  were  a  pretty  workman  too." 

Yes,  parson  Adams  is  perfectly  well,  and  so  is 
Mrs.  Slipslop.  But  so  are  they  all.  Even  the 
hero  and  heroine,  tied  and  bound  as  they  are  by 
the  necessity  under  which  their  maker  lay  of  pre- 
serving JosejDh's  Joseph-hood,  and  of  making 
Fanny  the  example  of  a  franker  and  less  interested 
virtue  than  her  sister-in-law  that  might  have  been, 
are  surprisingly  human  where  most  writers  would 
have  made  them  sticks.  And  the  rest  require  no 
allowance.  Lady  Booby,  few  as  are  the  strokes 
given  to  her,  is  not  much  less  alive  than  Lady  Bel- 
laston.  Mr.  Trulliber,  monster  and  not  at  all 
delicate  monster  as  he  is,  is  also  a  man,  and  when 
he  lays  it  down  that  no  one  even  in  his  own  house 
shall  drink  when  he  "caaled  vurst,"  one  can  but 
pay  his  maker  the  tribute  of  that  silent  shudder 
of  admiration  which  hails  the  addition  of  one  more 
everlasting  entity  to  the  world  of  thought  and 
fancy.  And  Mr.  Tow-wouse  is  real,  and  Mrs.  Tow- 
wouse  is  more  real  still,  and  Betty  is  real ;  and  the 
coachman,  and  Miss  Grave-airs,  and  all  the  won- 
derful crew  from  first  to  last.  The  dresses  they 
wear,  the  manners  they  exhibit,  the  laws  they  live 
under,  the  very  foods  and  drinks  they  live  upon, 
are  "past  like  the  shadows  on  glasses" — to  the 
comfort  and  rejoicing  of  some,  to  the  greater  or 
less  sorrow  of  others.  But  they  are  there — alive, 
full  of  blood,  full  of  breath  as  we  are,  and,  in  truth, 
I  fear  a  little  more  so.    For  some  purposes  a  cen- 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

tury  is  a  gap  harder  to  cross  and  raore  estranging 
than  a  couple  of  millenniums.  But  in  their  case 
the  gap  is  nothing;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  as  they  have  stood  the  harder  test,  they  will 
stand  the  easier.  There  are  very  striking  differ- 
ences between  Nausicaa  and  Mrs.  Slipslop;  there 
are  differences  not  less  striking  between  Mrs.  Slip- 
slop and  Beatrice.  But  their  likeness  is  a 
stranger  and  more  wonderful  thing  than  any  of 
their  unlikenesses.  It  is  that  they  are  all  women, 
that  thery  are  all  live  citizenesses  of  the  Land  of 
Matters  Unf orgot,  the  fashion  whereof  passeth  not 
away,  and  the  franchise  whereof,  once  acquired, 
assures  immortality. 


NOTE  TO  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

The  text  of  this  issue  in  the  main  follows  that 
of  the  standard  or  first  collected  edition  of  1762. 
The  variants  tvhich  the  author  introduced  in  suc- 
cessive editions  during  his  lifetime  are  not  incon- 
siderable; but  for  the  purposes  of  the  present  is- 
sue it  did  not  seem  necessary  or  indeed  desirable 
to  take  account  of  them.  In  the  case  of  prose 
fiction,  more  than  in  any  other  department  of 
literature,  it  is  desirable  that  icork  should  he  read 
in  the  form  ivhich  represents  the  completest  in- 
tention and  execution  of  the  author.  Nor  have 
any  notes  been  attempted;  for  again  such  things, 
in  the  case  of  prose  fiction,  are  of  very  doubtful 
use,  and  supply  pretty  certain  stumbling-blocks  to 
enjoyment;  while  in  the  particular  case  of  Field- 
ing, the  annotation,  unless  extremely  capricious, 
would  have  to  he  disgustingly  full.  For  he  it  at 
any  rate  from  the  present  editor  to  bury  these  de- 
lightful creations  under  an  ugly  crust  of  paral- 
lel passages  and  miscellaneous  erudition.  The 
sheets,  however,  have  been  carefully  read  in  order 
to  prevent  the  casual  errors  ivhich  are  ivont  to 
creep  into  frequently  reprinted  texts;  and  the 
editor  hopes  that  if  any  such  have  escaped  him, 
the  escape  ivill  not  he  attributed  to  ivillful  negli- 
gence. A  few  obvious  errors,  in  spelling  of  proper 
names,  &c.,  which  occur  in  the  1762  version  have 
been  corrected:  but  wherever  the  readings  of  that 
version  are  possible  they  have  been  preferred. 
The  embellishments  of  the  edition  are  partly  fanci- 
ful and  partly  '^ documentary;"  so  that  it  is  hoped 
both  classes  of  taste  may  have  something  to  feed 
upon. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

AS  it  is  possible  the  mere  English  reader  may- 
have  a  different  idea  of  romance  from  the 
author  of  these  little  ^  volumes,  and  may 
consequently  expect  a  kind  of  entertainment  not  to 
be  found,  nor  which  was  evem  intended,  in  the 
following  pages,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  premise 
a  few  words  concerning  this  kind  of  writing,  which 
I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  hitherto  at- 
tempted in  our  language. 

The  Epic,  as  well  as  the  Drama,  is  divided  into 
tragedy  and  comedy.  Homee,  who  was  the  father 
of  this  species  of  poetry,  gave  us  a  pattern  of  both 
these,  though  that  of  the  latter  kind  is  entirely 
lost;  which  Aristotle  tells  us,  bore  the  same  rela- 
tion to  comedy  which  his  Iliad  bears  to  tragedy. 
And  perhaps,  that  we  have  no  more  instances  of 
it  among  the  writers  of  antiquity,  is  owing  to  the 
loss  of  this  great  pattern,  which,  had  it  survived, 
would  have  found  its  imitators  equally  with  the 
other  poems  of  this  great  original. 

And  farther,  as  this  poetry  may  be  tragic  or 
comic,  I  will  not  scruple  to  say  it  may  be  likewise 
either  in  verse  or  prose:  for  though  it  wants  one 
particular,  which  the  critic  enumerates  in  the  con- 
stituent parts  of  an  epic  poem,  namely  meter ;  yet, 
when  any  kind  of  writing  contains  all  its  other 

1  Joseph  Andrews  was  originally  published  in  2  vols.  12mo. 

xxxix 


xl  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

parts,  such  as  fable,  action,  characters,  sentiments, 
and  diction,  and  is  deficient  in  meter  only,  it 
seems,  I  think,  reasonable  to  refer  it  to  the  epic; 
at  least,  as  no  critic  hath  thought  proper  to  range 
it  under  any  other  head,  or  to  assign  it  a  particu- 
lar name  to  itself. 

Thus  the  Telemachus  of  the  archbishop  of  Cam- 
bray  appears  to  me  of  the  epic  kind,  as  well  as  the 
Odyssey  of  Homer;  indeed,  it  is  much  fairer  and 
more  reasonable  to  give  it  a  name  common  with 
that  species  from  which  it  differs  only  in  a  single 
instance,  than  to  confound  it  with  those  which  it 
resembles  in  no  other.  Such  are  those  voluminous 
works,  commonly  called  Romances,  namely,  Clelia, 
Cleopatra,  A  strata,  Cassandra,  the  Grand  Cyrus, 
and  innumerable  others,  which  contain,  as  I  ap- 
prehend, very  little  instruction  or  entertainment. 

Now,  a  comic  romance  is  a  comic  epic  poem  in 
prose ;  differing  from  comedy,  as  the  serious  epic 
from  tragedy :  its  action  being  more  extended  and 
comprehensive;  containing  a  much  larger  circle 
of  incidents,  and  introducing  a  greater  variety  of 
characters.  It  differs  from  the  serious  romance 
in  its  fable  and  action,  in  this;  that  as  in  the  one 
these  are  grave  and  solemn,  so  in  the  other  they 
are  light  and  ridiculous :  it  differs  in  its  characters 
by  introducing 'persons  of  inferior  rank,  and  con- 
sequently, of  inferior /manners,  whereas  the  grave 
romance  sets  the  highest  before  us:  lastly,  in  its 
sentiments  and  diction;  by  preserving  the  ludi- 
crous instead  of  the  sublime.  In  the  diction,  I 
think,  burlesque  itself  may  be  sometimes  admitted ; 
of  which  many  instances  will  occur  in  this  work,  as 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  xli 

in  the  description  of  the  battles,  and  some  other 
places,  not  necessary  to  be  pointed  out  to  the 
classical  reader,  for  whose  entertainment  those 
parodies  or  burlesque  imitations  are  chiefly  cal- 
culated. 

But  though  we  have  sometimes  admitted  this  in 
our  diction,  we  have  carefully  excluded  it  from  our 
sentiments  and  characters;  for  there  it  is  never 
properly  introduced,  unless  in  writings  of  the  bur- 
lesque kind,  which  this  is  not  intended  to  be.  In- 
deed, no  two  species  of  writing  can  differ  more 
widely  than  the  comic  and  the  burlesque;  for  as 
the  latter  is  ever  the  exhibition  of  what  is  mon- 
strous and  unnatural,  and  where  our  delight,  if  we 
examine  it,  arises  from  the  surprising  absurdity, 
as  in  api^ropriating  the  manners  of  the  highest  to 
the  lowest,  or  e  converso;  so  in  the  former  we 
should  ever  confine  ourselves  strictly  to  nature, 
from  the  just  imitation  of  which  will  flow  all  the 
pleasure  we  can  this  way  convey  to  a  sensible 
reader.  And  perhaps  there  is  one  reason  why  a 
comic  writer  should  of  all  others  be  the  least  ex- 
cused for  deviating  from  nature,  since  it  may  not 
be  always  so  easy  for  a  serious  poet  to  meet  witji 
the  great  and  the  admirable;  but  life  everywhere 
furnishes  an  accurate  observer  with  the  ridiculous. 

I  have  hinted  this  little  concerning  burlesque, 
because  I  have  often  heard  that  name  given  to 
performances  which  have  been  truly  of  the  comic 
kind,  from  the  author's  having  sometimes  admitted 
it  in  his  diction  only;  which,  as  it  is  the  dress  of 
poetry,  doth,  like  the  dress  of  men,  establish  char- 
acters (the  one  of  the  whole  poem,  and  the  other 


xlii  AUTHOE'S  PREFACE 

of  the  whole  man),  in  vulgar  opinion,  beyond  any 
of  their  greater  excellences:  but  surely,  a  certain 
drollery  in  style,  where  characters  and  sentiments 
are  perfectly  natural,  no  more  constitutes  the 
burlesque,  than  an  empty  pomp  and  dignity  of 
words,  where  everything  else  is  mean  and  low, 
can  entitle  any  performance  to  the  appellation  of 
the  true  sublime. 

And  I  apprehend  my  Lord  Shaftesbury's  opin- 
ion of  mere  burlesque  agrees  with  mine,  when  he 
asserts.  There  is  no  such  thing  to  be  found  in  the 
writings  of  the  ancients.  But  perhaps  I  have  less 
abhorrence  than  he  professes  for  it ;  and  that,  not 
because  I  have  had  some  little  success  on  the  stage 
this  way,  but  rather  as  it  contributes  more  to 
exquisite  mirth  and  laughter  than  any  other;  and 
these  are  probably  more  wholesome  physic  for 
the  mind,  and  conduce  better  to  purge  away  spleen, 
melancholy,  and  ill  affections,  than  is  generally 
imagined.  Nay,  I  will  appeal  to  common  observa- 
tion, whether  the  same  companies  are  not  found 
more  full  of  good-humor  and  benevolence,  after 
they  have  been  sweetened  for  two  or  three  hours 
with  entertainments  of  this  kind,  than  when  soured 
by  a  tragedy  or  a  grave  lecture. 

But  to  illustrate  all  this  by  another  science,  in 
which,  perhaps,  we  shall  see  the  distinction  more 
clearly  and  plainly,  let  us  examine  the  works  of  a 
comic  history  painter,  with  those  performances 
which  the  Italians  call  Caricatura,  where  we  shall 
find  the  true  excellence  of  the  former  to  consist  in 
the  exactest  copying  of  nature;  insomuch  that  a 
judicious  eye  instantly  rejects  anything  outre,  any 


AUTHOR'S  PEEFACE  xliii 

liberty  which  the  painter  hath  taken  with  the  fea- 
tures of  that  alma  mater;  whereas  in  the  Carica- 
tura  we  allow  all  license — its  aim  is  to  exhibit 
monsters,  not  men;  and  all  distortions  and  exag- 
gerations whatever  are  within  its  proper  province. 

Now,  what  Caricatura  is  in  painting,  Burlesque 
is  in  writing;  and  in  the  same  manner  the  comic 
writer  and  painter  correlate  to  each  other.  And 
here  I  shall  observe,  that,  as  in  the  former  the 
painter  seems  to  have  the  advantage;  so  it  is  in 
the  latter  infinitely  on  the  side  of  the  writer;  for 
the  Monstrous  is  much  easier  to  paint  than  de- 
scribe, and  the  Ridiculous  to  describe  than  paint. 

And  though  perhaps  this  latter  species  doth 
not  in  either  science  so  stronglj^  affect  and  agitate 
the  muscles  as  the  other;  yet  it  will  be  owned,  I 
believe,  that  a  more  rational  and  useful  pleasure 
arises  to  us  from  it.  He  who  should  call  the  in- 
genious Hogarth  a  burlesque  painter,  would,  in 
my  opinion,  do  him  very  little  honor;  for  sure  it 
is  much  easier,  much  less  the  subject  of  admira- 
tion, to  paint  a  man  with  a  nose,  or  any  other 
feature,  of  a  preposterous  size,  or  to  expose  him 
in  some  absurd  or  monstrous  attitude,  than  to 
express  the  affections  of  men  on  canvas.  It  hath 
been  thought  a  vast  commendation  of  a  painter 
to  say  his  figures  seem  to  breathe;  but  surely  it 
is  a  much  greater  and  nobler  applause,  that  they 
appear  to  think. 

But  to  return.  The  Ridiculous  only,  as  I  have 
before  said,  falls  within  my  province  in  the  present 
work.  Nor  will  some  explanation  of  this  word  be 
thought  impertinent  by  the  reader,  if  he  considers 


xliv  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

bow  wonderfully  it  hath  been  mistaken,  even  by 
writers  who  have  professed  it:  for  to  what  but 
such  a  mistake  can  we  attribute  the  many  attempts 
to  ridicule  the  blackest  villainies,  and,  what  is  yet 
worse,  the  most  dreadful  calamities  ?  What  could 
exceed  the  absurdity  of  an  author,  who  should 
write  the  comedy  of  Neri'o,  with  the  merry  incident 
of  ripping  up  his  mother's  belly?  or  what  would 
give  a  greater  shock  to  humanity  than  an  attempt 
to  expose  the  miseries  of  poverty  and  distress  to 
ridicule?  And  yet  the  reader  will  not  want  much 
learning  to  suggest  such  instances  to  himself. 

Besides,  it  may  seem  remarkable,  that  Aristotle, 
who  is  so  fond  and  free  of  definitions,  hath  not 
thought  proper  to  define  the  Ridiculous.  Indeed, 
where  he  tells  us  it  is  proper  to  comedy,  he  hath 
remarked  that  villainy  is  not  its  object:  but  he 
hath  not,  as  I  remember,  positively  asserted  what 
is.  Nor  doth  the  Abbe  Bellegarde,  who  hath  writ- 
ten a  treatise  on  this  subject,  though  he  shows  us 
many  species  of  it,  once  trace  it  to  its  fountain. 

The  only  source  of  the  true  Ridiculous  (as  it 
appears  to  me)  is  affectation.  But  though  it 
arises  from  one  spring  only,  when  we  consider  the 
infinite  streams  into  which  this  one  branches,  we 
shall  presently  cease  to  admire  at  the  copious  field 
it  affords  to  an  observer.  Now,  affectation  pro- 
ceeds from  one  of  these  two  causes,  vanity  or 
hypocrisy :  for  as  vanity  puts  us  on  affecting  false 
characters,  in  order  to  purchase  applause;  so  hy- 
pocrisy sets  us  on  an  endeavor  to  avoid  censure, 
by  concealing  our  vices  under  an  appearance  of 
their  opposite  virtues.    And   though   these   two 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  xlv 

causes  are  often  confounded  (for  there  is  some 
difficulty  in  distinguishing  them),  yet,  as  they  pro- 
ceed from  very  different  motives,  so  they  are  as 
clearly  distinct  in  their  operations :  for  indeed,  the 
affectation  which  arises  from  vanity  is  nearer  to 
truth  than  the  other,  as  it  hath  not  that  violent  re- 
pugnancy of  nature  to  struggle  with,  which  that  of 
the  hypocrite  hath.  It  may  be  likewise  noted,  that 
affectation  doth  not  imjDly  an  obsolute  negation  of 
those  qualities  which  are  affected ;  and,  therefore, 
though,  when  it  proceeds  from  hypocrisy,  it  be 
nearly  allied  to  deceit;  yet  when  it  comes  from 
vanity  only,  it  partakes  of  the  nature  of  ostenta- 
tion :  for  instance,  the  affectation  of  liberality  in  a 
vain  man  differs  visibly  from  the  same  affectation 
in  the  avaricious ;  for  though  the  vain  man  is  not 
what  he  would  appear,  or  hath  not  the  virtue  he 
affects,  to  the  degree  he  would  be  thought  to  have 
it;  yet  it  sits  less  awkwardly  on  him  than  on  the 
avaricious  man,  who  is  the  very  reverse  of  what 
he  would  seem  to  be. 

From  the  discovery  of  this  affectation  arises 
the  Ridiculous,  which  always  strikes  the  reader 
with  surprise  and  pleasure;  and  that  in  a  higher 
and  stronger  degree  when  the  affectation  arises 
from  hypocrisy,  than  when  from  vanity ;  for  to  dis- 
cover any  one  to  be  the  exact  reverse  of  what  he 
affects,  is  more  surprising,  and  consequently  more 
ridiculous,  than  to  find  him  a  little  deficient  in  the 
quality  he  desires  the  reputation  of.  I  might  ob- 
serve that  our  Ben  Jonson,  who  of  all  men  under- 
stood the  Ridiculous  the  best,  hath  chiefly  used  the 
hypocritical  affectation. 


xlvi  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

Now,  from  affectation  only,  the  misfortunes  and 
calamities  of  life,  or  the  imperfections  of  nature, 
may  become  the  objects  of  ridicule.  Surely  he 
hath  a  very  ill-framed  mind  who  can  look  on  ugli- 
ness, infirmity,  or  poverty,  as  ridiculous  in  them- 
selves :  nor  do  I  believe  any  man  living,  who  meets 
a  dirty  fellow  riding  through  the  streets  in  a  cart, 
is  struck  with  an  idea  of  the  Ridiculous  from  it; 
but  if  he  should  see  the  same  figure  descend  from 
his  coach  and  six,  or  bolt  from  his  chair  with  his 
hat  under  his  arm,  he  would  then  begin  to  laugh, 
and  with  justice.  In  the  same  manner,  were  we 
to  enter  a  poor  house  and  behold  a  wretched  fam- 
ily shivering  with  cold  and  languishing  with  hun- 
ger, it  would  not  incline  us  to  laughter  (at  least 
we  must  have  very  diabolical  natures  if  it  would) ; 
but  should  we  discover  there  a  grate,  instead  of 
coals,  adorned  with  flowers,  empty  plate  or  china 
dishes  on  the  sideboard,  or  any  other  affectation 
of  riches  and  finery,  either  on  their  persons  or  in 
their  furniture,  we  might  then  indeed  be  excused 
for  ridiculing  so  fantastical  an  appearance.  Much 
less  are  natural  imperfections  the  object  of  de- 
rision ;  but  when  ugliness  aims  at  the  applause  of 
beauty,  or  lameness  endeavors  to  display  agility, 
it  is  then  that  these  unfortunate  circumstances, 
which  at  first  moved  our  compassion,  tend  only  to 
raise  our  mirth. 

The  poet  carries  this  very  far: — 

None  are  for  being  what  they  are  in  fault, 
But  for  not  being  what  they  would  be  thought. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  xlvii 

Where  if  the  meter  would  suffer  the  word  Ridic- 
ulous to  close  the  first  line,  the  thought  would  be 
rather  more  proper.  Great  vices  are  the  proper 
objects  of  our  detestation,  smaller  faults,  of  our 
pity;  but  affectation  appears  to  me  the  only  true 
source  of  the  Ridiculous. 

But  perhaps  it  may  be  objected  to  me,  that  I 
have  against  my  own  rules  introduced  vices,  and 
of  a  very  black  kind,  into  this  work.  To  which  I 
shall  answer ;  first,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  pur- 
sue a  series  of  human  actions,  and  keep  clear  from 
them.  Secondly,  that  the  vices  to  be  found  here 
are  rather  the  accidental  consequences  of  some 
human  frailty  or  foible,  than  causes  habitually 
existing  in  the  mind.  Thirdly,  that  they  are  never 
set  forth  as  the  objects  of  ridicule,  but  detestation. 
Fourthly,  that  they  are  never  the  principal  figure 
at  that  time  on  the  scene:  and,  lastly,  they  never 
produce  the  intended  evil. 

Having  thus  distinguished  Joseph  Andrews 
from  the  productions  of  romance  writers  on  the 
one  hand  and  burlesque  writers  on  the  other,  and 
given  some  few  very  short  hints  (for  I  intended 
no  more)  of  this  species  of  writing,  which  I  have 
affirmed  to  be  hitherto  unattempted  in  our  lan- 
guage; I  shall  leave  to  my  good-natured  reader 
to  apply  my  piece  to  my  observations,  and  will 
detain  him  no  longer  than  with  a  word  concerning 
the  characters  in  this  work. 

And  here  I  solemnly  protest  I  have  no  intention 
to  vilify  or  asperse  any  one;  for  though  every- 
thing is  copied  from  the  book  of  nature,  and  scarce 
a  character  or  action  produced  which  I  have  not 


xlviii  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

taken  from  my  own  observations  and  experience ; 
yet  I  have  used  the  utmost  care  to  obscure  the  per- 
sons by  such  different  circumstances,  degrees,  and 
colors,  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  guess  at  them 
with  any  degree  of  certainty;  and  if  it  ever  hap- 
pens otherwise,  it  is  only  where  the  failure  char- 
acterized is  so  minute,  that  it  is  a  foible  only  which 
the  party  himself  may  laugh  at  as  well  as  any 
other. 

As  to  the  character  of  Adams,  as  it  is  the  most 
glaring  in  the  whole,  so  I  conceive  it  is  not  to  be 
found  in  any  book  now  extant.  It  is  designed  a 
character  of  perfect  simplicity;  and  as  the  good- 
ness of  his  heart  will  recommend  him  to  the  good- 
natured,  so  I  hope  it  will  excuse  me  to  the  gentle- 
men of  his  cloth ;  for  whom,  while  they  are  worthy 
of  their  sacred  order,  no  man  can  possibly  have  a 
greater  respect.  They  will  therefore  excuse  me, 
notwithstanding  the  low  adventures  in  which  he  is 
engaged,  that  I  have  made  him  a  clergyman ;  since 
no  other  office  could  have  given  him  so  many  op- 
portunities of  displaying  his  worthy  inclinations. 


THE  HISTORY 

OF  THE 

ADVENTURES  OF 

JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

AND 

HIS  FRIEND  ME.  ABRAHAM  ADAMS 

BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  I 

Of  writing  lives  in  general,  and  particularly  of  Pamela ;  with 
a  word  by  the  bye  of  CoUey  Gibber  and  others. 

IT  is  a  trite  but  true  observation,  that  examples 
work  more  forcibly  on  the  mind  than  pre- 
cepts: and  if  this  be  just  in  what  is  odious 
and  blamable,  it  is  more  strongly  so  in  what  is 
amiable  and  praiseworthy.  Here  emulation  most 
effectually  operates  upon  us,  and  inspires  our  im- 
itation in  an  irresistible  manner.  A  good  man 
therefore  is  a  standing  lesson  to  all  his  acquaint- 
ance, and  of  far  greater  use  in  that  narrow  circle 
than  a  good  book. 

But  as  it  often  happens  that  the  best  men  are 
but  little  known,  and  consequently  cannot  extend 
the  usefulness  of  their  examples  a  great  way ;  the 
writer  may  be  called  in  aid  to  spread  their  history 

farther,  and  to  present  the  amiable  pictures  to 
l-i  1 


2  THE  HISTORY  OF 

those  who  have  not  the  hai3piness  of  knowing  the 
originals ;  and  so,  hy  communicating  such  valuable 
patterns  to  the  world,  he  may  perhaps  do  a  more 
extensive  service  to  mankind  than  the  person 
whose  life  originally  afforded  the  pattern. 

In  this  light  I  have  always  regarded  those  biog- 
raphers who  have  recorded  the  actions  of  great 
and  worthy  persons  of  both  sexes.  Not  to  men- 
tion those  ancient  writers  which  of  late  days  are 
little  read,  being  written  in  obsolete,  and  as  they 
are  generally  thought,  unintelligible  languages, 
such  as  Plutarch,  Nepos,  and  others  which  I  heard 
of  in  my  youth;  our  own  language  affords  many 
of  excellent  use  and  instruction,  finely  calculated  to 
sow  the  seeds  of  virtue  in  youth,  and  very  easy  to 
be  comprehended  by  persons  of  moderate  capac- 
ity. Such  as  the  history  of  John  the  Great,  who, 
by  his  brave  and  heroic  actions  against  men  of 
large  and  athletic  bodies,  obtained  the  glorious  ap- 
pellation of  the  Giant-killer;  that  of  an  Earl  of 
"Warwick,  whose  Christian  name  was  Guy;  the 
lives  of  Argalus  and  Parthenia;  and  above  all, 
the  history  of  those  seven  worthy  personages,  the 
Champions  of  Christendom.  In  all  these  delight 
is  mixed  with  instruction,  and  the  reader  is  almost 
as  much  improved  as  entertained. 

But  I  pass  by  these  and  many  others  to  mention 
two  books  lately  published,  which  represent  an 
admirable  pattern  of  the  amiable  in  either  sex. 
The  former  of  these,  which  deals  in  male  virtue, 
was  written  by  the  great  person  himself,  who  lived 
the  life  he  hath  recorded,  and  is  by  many  thought 
to  have  lived  such  a  life  only  in  order  to  write  it. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  3 

The  other  is  communicated  to  us  by  an  historian 
who  borrows  his  lights,  as  the  common  method  is, 
from  authentic  papers  and  records.  The  reader, 
I  believe,  already  conjectures,  I  mean  the  lives  of 
Mr.  Colley  Gibber  and  of  Mrs.  Pamela  Andrews. 
How  artfully  doth  the  former,  by  insinuating  that 
he  escaped  being  promoted  to  the  highest  stations 
in  Church  and  State,  teach  us  a  contempt  of 
wordly  grandeur!  how  strongly  doth  he  inculcate 
an  absolute  submission  to  our  superiors !  Lastly, 
how  completely  doth  he  arm  us  against  so  uneasy, 
so  wretched  a  passion  as  the  fear  of  shame !  how 
clearly  doth  he  expose  the  emptiness  and  vanity 
of  that  phantom,  reputation ! 

What  the  female  readers  are  taught  by  the 
memoirs  of  Mrs.  Andrews  is  so  well  set  forth  in 
the  excellent  essays  or  letters  prefixed  to  the  sec- 
ond and  subsequent  editions  of  that  work,  that 
it  would  be  here  a  needless  repetition.  The  au- 
thentic history  with  which  I  now  present  the  public 
is  an  instance  of  the  great  good  that  book  is  likely 
to  do,  and  of  the  prevalence  of  example  which  I 
have  just  observed;  since  it  will  appear  that  it  was 
by  keeping  the  excellent  pattern  of  his  sister's 
virtues  before  his  eyes,  that  Mr.  Joseph  Andrews 
was  chiefly  enabled  to  preserve  his  purity  in  the 
midst  of  such  great  temptations.  I  shall  only  add 
that  this  character  of  male  chastity,  though  doubt- 
less as  desirable  and  becoming  in  one  part  of  the 
human  species  as  in  the  other,  is  almost  the  only 
virtue  which  the  great  apologist  hath  not  given 
himself  for  the  sake  of  giving  the  example  to  his 
readers. 


CHAPTER  II 

Of  Mr.  Joseph  Andrews,  his  birth,  parentage,  education,  and 
great  endowments  j  with  a  word  or  two  concerning  an- 
cestors. 

MB.  JOSEPH  ANDREWS,  the  hero  of  our 
ensuing  history,  was  esteemed  to  be  the 
only  son  of  Gaffar  and  Gammer  An- 
drews, and  brother  to  the  illustrious  Pamela, 
whose  virtue  is  at  present  so  famous.  As  to  his 
ancestors,  we  have  searched  with  great  diligence, 
but  little  success;  being  unable  to  trace  them 
farther  than  his  great-grandfather,  who,  as  an 
elderly  person  in  the  parish  remembers  to  have 
heard  his  father  say,  was  an  excellent  cudgel- 
player.  Whether  he  had  any  ancestors  before 
this,  we  must  leave  to  the  opinion  of  our  curious 
reader,  finding  nothing  of  sufficient  certainty  to 
rely  on.  However,  we  cannot  omit  inserting  an 
epitaph  which  an  ingenious  friend  of  ours  hath 
communicated : — 

Stay,  traveler,  for  underneath  this  pew 
Lies  fast  asleep  that  merry  man  Andrew: 
When  the  last  day's  great  sun  shall  gild  the  skies, 
Then  he  shall  from  his  tomb  get  up  and  rise. 
Be  merry  while  thou  canst :  for  surely  thou 
Shalt  shortly  be  as  sad  as  he  is  now. 

The  words  are  almost  out  of  the  stone  with  an- 
tiquity.    But  it  is  needless  to  observe  that  An- 

4 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  5 

drew  here  is  written  without  an  5,  and  is,  besides, 
a  Christian  name.  My  friend,  moreover,  conjec- 
tures this  to  have  been  the  founder  of  that  sect  of 
laughing  philosophers  since  called  Merry-an- 
drews. 

To  waive,  therefore,  a  circumstance  which, 
though  mentioned  in  conformity  to  the  exact  rules 
of  biography,  is  not  greatly  material,  I  proceed  to 
things  of  more  consequence.  Indeed,  it  is  suffi- 
ciently certain  that  he  had  as  many  ancestors  as 
the  best  man  living,  and,  perhaps,  if  we  look  five 
or  six  hundred  years  backwards,  might  be  related 
to  some  persons  of  very  great  figure  at  present, 
whose  ancestors  within  half  the  last  century  are 
buried  in  as  great  obscurity.  But  suppose,  for 
argument's  sake,  we  should  admit  that  he  had  no 
ancestors  at  all,  but  had  sprung  up,  according  to 
the  modern  phrase,  out  of  a  dunghill,  as  the 
Athenians  pretended  they  themselves  did  from 
the  earth,  would  not  this  autokopros  ^  have  been 
justly  entitled  to  all  the  praise  arising  from  his 
own  virtues'?  Would  it  not  be  hard  that  a  man 
who  hath  no  ancestors  should  therefore  be  ren- 
dered incapable  of  acquiring  honor;  when  we  see 
so  many  who  have  no  virtues  enjoying  the  honor 
of  their  forefathers?  At  ten  years  old  (by  which 
time  his  education  was  advanced  to  writing  and 
reading)  he  was  bound  an  apprentice,  according 
to  the  statute,  to  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  an  uncle  of 
Mr.  Booby's  by  the  father's  side.  Sir  Thomas 
having  then  an  estate  in  his  own  hands,  the  young 
Andrews  was  at  first  employed  in  what  in  the 

1  In  English,  sprung  from  a  dunghill. 


6  THE  HISTORY  OF 

country  they  call  keeping  birds.  His  office  was  to 
perform  the  part  the  ancients  assigned  to  the  god 
Priapus,  which  deity  the  moderns  call  by  the  name 
of  Jack  o'  Lent;  but  his  voice  being  so  extremely 
musical,  that  it  rather  allured  the  birds  than  ter- 
rified them,  he  was  soon  transplanted  from  the 
fields  into  the  dog-kennel,  where  he  was  placed  un- 
der the  huntsman,  and  made  what  the  sportsmen 
term  whipper-in.  For  this  place  likewise  the 
sweetness  of  his  voice  disqualified  him;  the  dogs 
preferring  the  melody  of  his  chiding  to  all  the  al- 
luring notes  of  the  huntsman,  who  soon  became  so 
incensed  at  it,  that  he  desired  Sir  Thomas  to  pro- 
vide otherwise  for  him,  and  constantly  laid  every 
fault  the  dogs  were  at  to  the  account  of  the  poor 
boy,  who  was  now  transplanted  to  the  stable. 
Here  he  soon  gave  proofs  of  strength  and  agility 
beyond  his  years,  and  constantly  rode  the  most 
spirited  and  vicious  horses  to  water,  with  an  in- 
trepidity which  surprised  every  one.  While  he 
was  in  this  station,  he  rode  several  races  for  Sir 
Thomas,  and  this  with  such  expertness  and  suc- 
cess, that  the  neighboring  gentlemen  frequently 
solicited  the  knight  to  permit  little  Joey  (for  so  he 
was  called)  to  ride  their  matches.  The  best  game- 
sters, before  they  laid  their  money,  always  in- 
quired which  horse  little  Joey  was  to  ride ;  and  the 
bets  were  rather  proportioned  by  the  rider  than 
by  the  horse  himself;  especially  after  he  had  scorn- 
fully refused  a  considerable  bribe  to  play  booty 
on  such  an  occasion.  This  extremely  raised  his 
character,  and  so  pleased  the  Lady  Booby,  that 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  7 

slie  desired  to  have  him   (being  now  seventeen 
years  of  age)  for  her  own  footboy. 

Joey  was  now  preferred  from  the  stable  to  at- 
tend on  his  lady,  to  go  on  her  errands,  stand  be- 
hind her  chair,  wait  at  her  tea-table,  and  carry  her 
prayer-book  to  church;  at  which  place  his  voice 
gave  him  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  him- 
self by  singing  psalms:  he  behaved  likewise  in 
every  other  respect  so  well  at  Divine  service,  that 
it  recommended  him  to  the  notice  of  Mr.  Abraham 
Adams,  the  curate,  who  took  an  opportunity  one 
day,  as  he  was  drinking  a  cup  of  ale  in  Sir 
Thomas's  kitchen,  to  ask  the  young  man  several 
questions  concerning  religion ;  with  his  answers  to 
which  he  was  wonderfully  pleased. 


CHAPTER  III 

Of  Mr.  Abraham  Adams  the  curate,  Mrs.  Slipslop  the  cham- 
bermaid, and  others. 

MR.  ABRAHAM  ADAMS  was  an  excellent 
scholar.  He  was  a  perfect  master  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  languages ;  to  which  he 
added  a  great  share  of  knowledge  in  the  Oriental 
tongues;  and  could  read  and  translate  French, 
Italian,  and  Spanish.  He  had  applied  many  years 
to  the  most  severe  study,  and  had  treasured  up  a 
fund  of  learning  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  a  uni- 
versity. He  was,  besides,  a  man  of  good  sense, 
good  parts,  and  good  nature ;  but  was  at  the  same 
time  as  entirely  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  this  world 
as  an  infant  just  entered  into  it  could  possibly  be. 
As  he  had  never  any  intention  to  deceive,  so  he 
never  suspected  such  a  design  in  others.  He  was 
generous,  friendly,  and  brave  to  an  excess;  but 
simplicity  was  his  characteristic :  he  did,  no  more 
than  Mr.  Colley  Gibber,  apprehend  any  such 
passions  as  malice  and  envy  to  exist  in  mankind ; 
which  was  indeed  less  remarkable  in  a  country  par- 
son than  in  a  gentleman  who  hath  passed  his  life 
behind  the  scenes, — a  place  which  hath  been  sel- 
dom thought  the  school  of  innocence,  and  where  a 
very  little  observation  would  have  convinced  the 
great  apologist  that  those  passions  have  a  real  ex- 
istence in  the  human  mind. 

8 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  9 

His  virtue,  and  Lis  other  qualifications,  as  they 
rendered  him  equal  to  his  office,  so  they  made  him 
an  agreeable  and  valuable  companion,  and  had  so 
much  endeared  and  well  recommended  him  to  a 
bishop,  that  at  the  age  of  fifty  he  was  provided 
with  a  handsome  income  of  twenty-three  pounds  a 
year ;  which,  however,  he  could  not  make  any  great 
figure  with,  because  he  lived  in  a  dear  country, 
and  was  a  little  encumbered  with  a  wife  and  six 
children. 

It  was  this  gentleman,  who  having,  as  I  have 
said,  observed  the  sing-ular  devotion  of  young 
Andrews,  had  found  means  to  question  him  con- 
cerning several  particulars;  as,  how  many  books 
there  were  in  the  New  Testament'?  which  were 
they?  how  many  chapters  they  contained?  and 
such  like:  to  all  which,  Mr.  Adams  privately  said, 
he  answered  much  better  than  Sir  Thomas,  or  two 
other  neighboring  justices  of  the  peace  could  prob- 
ably have  done. 

Mr.  Adams  was  wonderfully  solicitous  to  know 
at  what  time  and  by  what  opportunity,  the  youth 
became  acquainted  with  these  matters:  Joey  told 
him  that  he  had  very  early  learned  to  read  and 
write  by  the  goodness  of  his  father,  who,  though  he 
had  not  interest  enough  to  get  him  into  a  charity 
school,  because  a  cousin  of  his  father's  landlord 
did  not  vote  on  the  right  side  for  a  churchwarden 
in  a  borough  town,  yet  had  been  himself  at  the  ex- 
pense of  sixpence  a  week  for  his  learning.  He 
told  him  likewise,  that  ever  since  he  was  in  Sir 
Thomas's  family  he  had  employed  all  his  hours  of 
leisure  in  reading  good  books ;  that  he  had  read  the 


10  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Bible,  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man,  and  Thomas  a 
Kempis ;  and  that  as  often  as  he  could,  without  be- 
ing perceived,  he  had  studied  a  great  good  book 
which  lay  open  in  the  hall  window,  where  he  had 
read,  "as  how  the  devil  carried  away  half  a  church 
in  sermon-time,  without  hurting  one  of  the  congre- 
gation ;  and  as  how  a  field  of  corn  ran  away  down  a 
hill  with  all  the  trees  upon  it,  and  covered  another 
man's  meadow."  This  sufficiently  assured  Mr. 
Adams  that  the  good  book  meant  could  be  no  other 
than  Baker's  Chronicle. 

The  curate,  surprised  to  find  such  instances  of 
industry  and  application  in  a  young  man  who  had 
never  met  with  the  least  encouragement,  asked 
him.  If  he  did  not  extremely  regret  the  want  of  a 
liberal  education,  and  the  not  having  been  born  of 
parents  who  might  have  indulged  his  talents  and 
desire  of  knowledge?  To  which  he  answered, 
''He  hoped  he  had  profited  somewhat  better  from 
the  books  he  had  read  than  to  lament  his  condition 
in  this  world.  That,  for  his  part,  he  was  perfectly 
content  with  the  state  to  which  he  was  called ;  that 
he  should  endeavor  to  improve  his  talent,  which 
was  all  required  of  him;  but  not  repine  at  his  own 
lot,  nor  envy  those  of  his  betters."  "Well  said, 
my  lad,"  replied  the  curate;  "and  I  wish  some 
who  have  read  many  more  good  books,  nay,  and 
some  who  have  written  good  books  themselves, 
had  profited  so  much  by  them." 

Adams  had  no  nearer  access  to  Sir  Thomas  or 
my  lady  than  through  the  waiting-gentlewoman; 
for  Sir  Thomas  was  too  apt  to  estimate  men 
merely  by  their  dress  or  fortune ;  and  my  lady  was 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  11 

a  woman  of  gavety,  who  had  been  blessed  with  a 
town  education,  and  never  spoke  of  any  of  her 
country  neighbors  by  any  other  appellation  than 
that  of  the  brutes.  They  both  regarded  the 
curate  as  a  kind  of  domestic  only,  belonging  to  the 
parson  of  the  parish,  who  was  at  this  time  at 
variance  with  the  knight;  for  the  parson  had  for 
many  years  lived  in  a  constant  state  of  civil  war, 
or,  which  is  perhaps  as  bad,  of  civil  law,  with  Sir 
Thomas  himself  and  the  tenants  of  his  manor. 
The  foundation  of  this  quarrel  was  a  modus,  by 
setting  which  aside  an  advantage  of  several  shil- 
lings per  annum  would  have  accrued  to  the  rector; 
but  he  had  not  yet  been  able  to  accomplish  his  pur- 
pose, and  had  reaped  hitherto  nothing  better  from 
the  suits  than  the  pleasure  (which  he  used  indeed 
frequently  to  say  was  no  small  one)  of  reflecting 
that  he  had  utterly  undone  many  of  the  poor  ten- 
ants, though  he  had  at  the  same  time  greatly  im- 
poverished himself. 

Mrs.  Slipslop,  the  waiting-gentlewoman,  being 
herself  the  daughter  of  a  curate,  preserved  some 
respect  for  Adams:  she  professed  great  regard 
for  his  learning,  and  would  frequently  dispute 
with  him  on  points  of  theology;  but  always  in- 
sisted on  a  deference  to  be  paid  to  her  understand- 
ing, as  she  had  beem  frequently  at  London,  and 
knew  more  of  the  world  than  a  country  parson 
could  pretend  to. 

She  had  in  these  disputes  a  particular  advan- 
tage over  Adams  :  for  she  was  a  mighty  atfecter  of 
hard  words,  which  she  used  in  such  a  manner  that 
the  parson,  who  durst  not  offend  her  by  calling 


12  THE  HISTORY  OF 

her  words  in  question,  was  frequently  at  some  loss 
to  guess  her  meaning,  and  would  have  been  much 
less  puzzled  by  an  Arabian  manuscript. 

Adams  therefore  took  an  opportunity  one  day, 
after  a  pretty  long  discourse  with  her  on  the  es- 
sence (or,  as  she  pleased  to  term  it,  the  incense) 
of  matter,  to  mention  the  case  of  young  Andrews ; 
desiring  her  to  reconmiend  him  to  her  lady  as  a 
youth  very  susceptible  of  learning,  and  one  whose 
instruction  in  Latin  he  would  himself  undertake; 
by  which  means  he  might  be  qualified  for  a  higher 
station  than  that  of  a  footman;  and  added,  she 
knew  it  was  in  his  master's  power  easily  to  pro- 
vide for  him  in  a  better  manner.  He  therefore  de- 
sired that  the  boy  might  be  left  behind  under  his 
care. 

"hal  Mr.  Adams,"  said  Mrs.  Slipslop,  ''do  you 
think  my  lady  will  suffer  any  preambles  about  any 
such  matter?  She  is  going  to  London  very  con- 
cisely, and  I  am  confidous  would  not  leave  Joey 
behind  her  on  any  account;  for  he  is  one  of  the 
genteelest  young  fellows  you  may  see  in  a  sum- 
mer's day;  and  I  am  confidous  she  would  as  soon 
think  of  parting  with  a  pair  of  her  gray  mares,  for 
she  values  herself  as  much  on  one  as  the  other." 
Adams  would  have  interrupted,  but  she  pro- 
ceeded: "And  why  is  Latin  more  necessitous  for 
a  footman  than  a  gentleman?  It  is  very  proper 
that  you  clergymen  must  learn  it,  because  you 
can't  preach  w^ithout  it:  but  I  have  heard  gentle- 
men say  in  London,  that  it  is  fit  for  nobody  else. 
I  am  confidous  my  lady  would  be  angry  with  me 
for  mentioning  it ;  and  I  shall  draw  myself  into  no 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  13 

such  delemy."  At  which  words  her  lady's  bell 
rung,  and  Mr.  Adams  was  forced  to  retire;  nor 
could  he  gain  a  second  opportunity  with  her  be- 
fore their  London  journey,  which  happened  a  few 
days  afterwards.  However,  Andrews  behaved 
very  thankfully  and  gratefully  to  him  for  his  in- 
tended kindness,  which  he  told  him  he  never  would 
forget,  and  at  the  same  time  received  from  the 
good  man  many  admonitions  concerning  the  regu- 
lation of  his  future  conduct,  and  his  perseverance 
in  innocence  and  industry. 


CHAPTER  IV 

What  happened  after  their  journey  to  London. 

NO  sooner  was  young  Andrews  arrived  at 
London  than  he  began  to  scrape  an  ac- 
quaintance with  his  party-colored  breth- 
ren, who  endeavored  to  make  him  despise  his 
former  course  of  life.  His  hair  was  cut  after  the 
newest  fashion,  and  became  his  chief  care;  he  went 
abroad  with  it  all  the  morning  in  papers,  and 
dressed  it  out  in  the  afternoon.  They  could  not, 
however,  teach  him  to  game,  swear,  drink,  nor 
any  other  genteel  vice  the  town  abounded  with. 
He  applied  most  of  his  leisure  hours  to  music,  in 
which  he  greatly  improved  himself;  and  became 
so  perfect  a  connoisseur  in  that  art,  that  he  led  the 
opinion  of  all  the  other  footmen  at  an  opera,  and 
they  never  condemned  or  applauded  a  single  song 
contrary  to  his  approbation  or  dislike.  He  was  a 
little  too  forward  in  riots  at  the  play-houses  and 
assemblies ;  and  when  he  attended  his  lady  at 
church  (which  was  but  seldom)  he  behaved  with 
less  seeming  devotion  than  formerly:  however,  if 
he  was  outwardly  a  pretty  fellow,  his  morals  re- 
mained entirely  uncorrupted,  though  he  was  at 
the  same  time  smarter  and  genteeler  than  any  of 
the  beaux  in  town,  either  in  or  out  of  livery. 

His  lady,  who  had  often  said  of  him  that  Joey 
was  the  handsomest  and  genteelest  footman  in  the 

14 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  15 

kingdom,  but  that  it  was  pity  he  wanted  spirit,  be- 
gan now  to  find  that  fault  no  longer;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  was  frequently  heard  to  cry  out,  ''Ay^ 
there  is  some  life  in  this  fellow."  She  plainly 
saw  the  effects  which  the  town  air  hath  on  the 
soberest  constitutions.  She  would  now  walk  out 
with  him  into  Hyde  Park  in  a  morning,  and  when 
tired,  which  happened  almost  every  minute,  would 
lean  on  his  arm,  and  converse  with  him  in  great 
familiarity.  Whenever  she  stepped  out  of  her 
coach,  she  would  take  him  by  the  hand,  and  some- 
times, for  fear  of  stumbling,  press  it  very  hard; 
she  admitted  him  to  deliver  messages  at  her  bed- 
side in  a  morning,  leered  at  him  at  table,  and  in- 
dulged him  in  all  those  innocent  freedoms  which 
women  of  figure  may  permit  without  the  least 
sully  of  their  virtue. 

But  though  their  virtue  remains  unsullied,  yet 
now  and  then  some  small  arrows  will  glance  on  the 
shadow  of  it,  their  reputation ;  and  so  it  fell  out  to 
Lady  Booby,  who  happened  to  be  walking  arm-in- 
arm with  Joey  one  morning  in  Hyde  Park,  when 
Lady  Tittle  and  Lady  Tattle  came  accidentally 
by  in  their  coach.  ''Bless  me,"  says  Lady  Tittle, 
''can  I  believe  my  eyes!  Is  that  Lady  Booby?" 
— "Surely,"  says  Tattle.  "But  what  makes  you 
surprised?" — "Why,  is  not  that  her  footman?" 
replied  Tittle.  At  which  Tattle  laughed,  and 
cried,  "An  old  business,  I  assure  you:  is  it  possi- 
ble you  should  not  have  heard  it?  The  whole 
town  hath. known  it  this  half-year."  The  conse- 
quence of  this  interview  was  a  whisper  through  a 
hundred  visits,  which  were  separately  performed 


16  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

by  the  two  ladies  ^  the  same  afternoon,  and  might 
have  had  a  mischievous  effect,  had  it  not  been 
stopped  by  two  fresh  reputations  which  were  pub- 
lished the  day  afterwards,  and  engrossed  the  whole 
talk  of  the  town. 

But,  whatever  opinion  or  suspicion  the  scandal- 
ous inclination  of  defamers  might  entertain  of 
Lady  Booby's  innocent  freedoms,  it  is  certain  they 
made  no  impression  on  young  Andrews,  who  never 
offered  to  encroach  beyond  the  liberties  which  his 
lady  allowed  him, — a  behavior  which  she  imputed 
to  the  violent  respect  he  preserved  for  her,  and 
which  served  only  to  heighten  a  something  she  be- 
gan to  conceive,  and  which  the  next  chapter  will 
open  a  little  farther. 

1  It  may  seem  an  absurdity  that  Tattle  should  visit,  as  she 
actually  did,  to  spread  a  known  scandal:  but  the  reader  may 
reconcile  this  by  supposing,  with  me,  that,  notwithstanding  what 
she  says,  this  was  her  first  acquaintance  with  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  with  the  affectionate  and 
mournful  behavior  of  his  widow,  and  the  great  purity  of 
Joseph  Andrews. 

AT  this  time  an  accident  happened  which 
put  a  stop  to  those  agreeable  walks,  which 
probably  would  have  soon  puffed  up  the 
cheeks  of  Fame,  and  caused  her  to  blow  her 
brazen  trumpet  through  the  town;  and  this  was 
no  other  than  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Booby, 
who,  departing  this  life,  left  his  disconsolate  lady 
confined  to  her  house,  as  closely  as  if  she  herself 
had  been  attacked  by  some  violent  disease.  Dur- 
ing the  first  six  days  the  poor  lady  admitted  none 
but  Mrs.  Slipslop,  and  three  female  friends,  who 
made  a  party  at  cards:  but  on  the  seventh  she 
ordered  Joey,  whom,  for  a  good  reason,  we  shall 
hereafter  call  Joseph,  to  bring  up  her  tea-kettle. 
The  lady  being  in  bed,  called  Joseph  to  her,  bade 
him  sit  down,  and,  having  accidentally  laid  her 
hand  on  his,  she  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  been  in 
love.  Joseph  answered,  with  some  confusion,  it 
was  time  enough  for  one  so  young  as  himself  to 
think  on  such  things.  ''As  young  as  you  are," 
replied  the  lady,  "I  am  convinced  you  are  no 
stranger  to  that  passion.  Come,  Joey, ' '  says  she, 
"tell  me  truly,  who  is  the  happy  girl  whose  eyes 

have  made  a  conquest  of  you  ? ' '     Joseph  returned, 
1-2  17 


18  THE  HISTORY  OF 

that  all  the  women  he  had  ever  seen  were  equally 
indifferent  to  him.  ''Oh  then,"  said  the  lady, 
"you  are  a  general  lover.  Indeed,  you  handsome 
fellows,  like  handsome  women,  are  very  long  and 
difficult  in  fixing;  but  yet  you  shall  never  persuade 
me  that  your  heart  is  so  insuscei3tible  of  affection; 
I  rather  impute  what  you  say  to  your  secrecy,  a 
very  commendable  quality,  and  what  I  am  far 
from  being  angry  with  jou  for.  Nothing  can  be 
more  unworthy  in  a  young  man,  than  to  betray  any 
intimacies  with  the  ladies."  ''Ladies!  madam," 
said  Joseph,  "I  am  sure  I  never  had  the  impu- 
dence to  think  of  any  that  deserve  that  name." 
"Don't  pretend  to  too  much  modesty,"  said  she, 
"for  that  some  times  may  be  impertinent;  but 
pray  answer  me  this  question.  Suppose  a  lady 
should  happen  to  like  you;  suppose  she  should 
prefer  you  to  all  your  sex,  and  admit  you  to  the 
same  familiarities  as  you  might  have  hoped  for  if 
you  had  been  born  her  equal,  are  you  certain  that 
DO  vanity  could  tempt  you  to  discover  her?  An- 
swer me  honestly,  Joseph ;  have  you  so  much  more 
sense  and  so  much  more  virtue  than  you  handsome 
young  fellows  generally  have,  who  make  no  scruple 
of  sacrificing  our  dear  reputation  to  your  pride, 
without  considering  the  great  obligation  we  lay 
on  you  by  our  condescension  and  confidence? 
Can  you  keep  a  secret,  my  Joey?"  "Madam," 
says  he,  "I  hope  your  ladyship  can't  tax  me  with 
ever  betraying  the  secrets  of  the  family;  and  I 
hope,  if  you  was  to  turn  me  away,  I  might  have 
that  character  of  you."  "I  don't  intend  to  turn 
you  away,  Joey,"  said  she,  and  sighed;  "I  am 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  19 

afraid  it  is  not  in  my  power."  She  then  raised 
herself  a  little  in  her  bed,  and  discovered  one  of 
the  whitest  necks  that  ever  was  seen;  at  which 
Joseph  blushed.  "La!"  says  she,  in  an  affected 
surprise,  ''what  am  I  doing?  I  have  trusted  my- 
self with  a  man  alone,  naked  in  bed;  suppose  you 
should  have  any  wicked  intentions  upon  my  honor, 
how  should  I  defend  myself?"  Joseph  protested 
that  he  never  had  the  least  evil  design  against  her. 
**No,"  says  she,  ''perhaps  you  may  not  call  your 
designs  wicked;  and  perhaps  they  are  not  so." — 
He  swore  they  were  not.  "You  misunderstand 
me,"  says  she;  "I  mean  if  they  were  against  my 
honor,  they  may  not  be  wicked ;  but  the  world  calls 
them  so.  But  then,  say  you,  the  world  will  never 
know  anything  of  the  matter;  yet  would  not  that 
be  trusting  to  your  secrecy?  Must  not  my  repu- 
tation be  then  in  your  power?  Would  you  not  then 
be  my  master?"  Joseph  begged  her  ladyship  to 
be  comforted ;  for  that  he  would  never  imagine  the 
least  wicked  thing  against  her,  and  that  he  had 
rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  give  her  any 
reason  to  suspect  him.  "Yes,"  said  she,  "I  must 
have  reason  to  suspect  you.  Are  you  not  a  man? 
and,  without  vanity,  I  may  pretend  to  some 
charms.  But  perhaps  you  may  fear  I  should 
prosecute  you;  indeed  I  hope  you  do;  and  yet 
Heaven  knows  I  should  never  have  the  confidence 
to  appear  before  a  court  of  justice ;  and  you  know, 
Joey,  I  am  of  a  forgiving  temper.  Tell  me,  Joey, 
don't  you  think  I  should  forgive  you?" — "Indeed, 
madam,"  says  Joseph,  "I  will  never  do  anything 
to  disoblige  your  ladyship." — "How,"  says  she, 


20  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

''do  you  tliink  it  would  not  disoblige  me  then? 
Do  YOU  tliiuk  I  would  willingly  suffer  you?" — ''I 
don't  understand  you,  madam,"  says  Joseph. — 
''Don't  you?"  said  she,  "then  you  are  either  a 
fool,  or  pretend  to  be  so ;  I  find  I  was  mistaken  in 
you.  So  get  you  downstairs,  and  never  let  me  see 
your  face  again ;  your  pretended  innocence  cannot 
impose  on  me." — "jMadam,"  said  Joseph,  "I 
would  not  have  your  ladyship  think  any  evil  of 
me.  I  have  always  endeavored  to  be  a  dutiful 
servant  both  to  you  and  my  master." — "0  thou 
villain!"  answered  my  lady;  "why  didst  thou 
mention  the  name  of  that  dear  man,  unless  to  tor- 
ment me,  to  bring  his  precious  memory  to  my 
mind?"  (and  tben  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  tears.) 
"Get  thee  from  my  sight!  I  shall  never  endure 
thee  more."  At  which  words  she  turned  away 
from  him;  and  Joseph  retreated  from  the  room  in 
a  most  disconsolate  condition,  and  writ  that  letter 
which  the  reader  will  find  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VI 

How  Joseph  Andrews  writ  a  letter  to  his  sister  Pamela. 

* '  To  Mrs.  Pamela  Andrews,  living  with 
Squire  Booby. 

DEAR  SISTER,— Since  I  received  your  let- 
ter of  your  good  lady's  death,  we  have 
had  a  misfortune  of  the  same  kind  in  our 
family.  My  worthy  master  Sir  Thomas  died 
about  four  days  ago ;  and,  what  is  worse,  my  poor 
lady  is  certainly  gone  distracted.  None  of  the 
servants  expected  her  to  take  it  so  to  heart,  be- 
cause they  quarreled  almost  eveiy  day  of  their 
lives:  but  no  more  of  that,  because  you  know, 
Pamela,  I  never  loved  to  tell  the  secrets  of  my 
master's  family;  but  to  be  sure  you  must  have 
known  they  never  loved  one  another;  and  I  have 
heard  her  ladyshij^  wish  his  honor  dead  above  a 
thousand  times;  but  nobody  knows  what  it  is  to 
lose  a  friend  till  they  have  lost  him. 

''Don't  tell  anybody  what  I  write,  because  I 
should  not  care  to  have  folks  say  I  discover  what 
passes  in  our  family;  but  if  it  had  not  been  so 
great  a  lady,  I  should  have  thought  she  had  had  a 
mind  to  me.  Dear  Pamela,  don't  tell  anybody'; 
but  she  ordered  me  to  sit  down  by  her  bedside, 
when  she  was  in  naked  bed ;  and  she  held  my  hand, 
and  talked  exactly  as  a  lady  does  to  her  sweet- 
heart in  a  stage-play,  which  I  have  seen  in  Covent 

21 


22  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Garden,  while  she  wanted  him  to  be  no  better  than 
he  should  be. 

*'If  madam  be  mad,  I  shall  not  care  for  staying 
long  in  the  family;  so  I  heartily  wish  you  could 
get  me  a  place,  either  at  the  squire's,  or  some 
other  neighboring  gentleman's,  unless  it  be  true 
that  you  are  going  to  be  married  to  parson  Wil- 
liams, as  folks  talk,  and  then  I  should  be  very  will- 
ing to  be  his  clerk;  for  which  you  know  I  am 
qualified,  being  able  to  read  and  to  set  a  psalm. 

''I  fancy  I  shall  be  discharged  very  soon;  and 
the  moment  I  am,  unless  I  hear  from  you,  I  shall 
return  to  my  old  master's  country-seat,  if  it  be 
only  to  see  parson  Adams,  who  is  the  best  man  in 
the  world.  London  is  a  bad  place,  and  there  is  so 
little  good  fellowship,  that  the  next-door  neigh- 
bors don't  know  one  another.  Pray  give  my  serv- 
ice to  all  friends  that  inquire  for  me.  So  I  rest 
Your  loving  brother, 

''Joseph  Andrews." 

As  soon  as  Joseph  had  sealed  and  directed  this 
letter  he  walked  downstairs,  where  he  met  Mrs. 
Slipslop,  with  whom  we  shall  take  this  opportunity 
to  bring  the  reader  a  little  better  acquainted. 
She  was  a  maiden  gentlewoman  of  about  forty-five 
years  of  age,  who,  having  made  a  small  slip  in  her 
youth,  had  continued  a  good  maid  ever  since.  She 
was  not  at  this  time  remarkably  handsome ;  being 
very  short,  and  rather  too  corpulent  in  body,  and 
somewhat' red,  with  the  addition  of  pimples  in  the 
face.  Her  nose  was  likewise  rather  too  large,  and 
her  eyes  too  little;  nor  did  she  resemble  a  cow 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  23 

so  mucli  in  her  breath  as  in  two  brown  globes 
which  she  carried  before  her ;  one  of  her  legs  was 
also  a  little  shorter  than  the  other,  which  occa- 
sioned her  to  limp  as  she  walked.  This  fair  crea- 
ture had  long  cast  the  eyes  of  affection  on  Joseph, 
in  which  she  had  not  met  with  quite  so  good  suc- 
cess as  she  probably  wished,  though,  besides  the  al- 
lurements of  her  native  charms,  she  had  given  him 
tea,  sweetmeats,  wine,  and  many  other  delicacies, 
of  which,  by  keeping  the  keys,  she  had  the  absolute 
command.  Joseph,  however,  had  not  returned 
the  least  gratitude  to  all  these  favors,  not  even 
so  much  as  a  kiss;  though  I  would  not  insinuate 
she  was  so  easily  to  be  satisfied;  for  surely  then 
he  would  have  been  highly  blamable.  The  truth 
is,  she  was  arrived  at  an  age  when  she  thought  she 
might  indulge  herself  in  any  liberties  with  a  man, 
without  the  danger  of  bringing  a  third  person  into 
the  world  to  betray  them.  She  imagined  that  by 
so  long  a  self-denial  she  had  not  only  made 
amends  for  the  small  slip  of  her  youth  above 
hinted  at,  but  had  likewise  laid  up  a  quantity  of 
merit  to  excuse  any  future  failings.  In  a  word, 
she  resolved  to  give  a  loose  to  her  amorous  in- 
clinations, and  to  pay  off  the  debt  of  pleasure 
which  she  found  she  owed  herself,  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible. 

With  these  charms  of  person,  and  in  this  dis- 
position of  mind,  she  encountered  poor  Joseph  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
drink  a  glass  of  something  good  this  morning. 
Joseph,  whose  spirits  were  not  a  little  cast  down, 
very  readily  and  thankfully  accepted  the  offer; 


24  THE  HISTORY  OF 

and  together  they  went  into  a  closet,  where,  hav- 
ing delivered  him  a  full  glass  of  ratafia,  and  de- 
sired him  to  sit  down,  Mrs.  Slipslop  thus  began : — 
''Sure  nothing  can  be  a  more  simple  contract  in 
a  woman  than  to  place  her  affections  on  a  boy.  If 
I  had  ever  thought  it  would  have  been  my  fate,  I 
should  have  wished  to  die  a  thousand  deaths 
rather  than  live  to  see  that  day.  If  we  like  a  man, 
the  lightest  hint  sophisticates.  Whereas  a  boy 
proposes  upon  us  to  break  through  all  the  regula- 
tions of  modesty,  before  we  can  make  any  oppres- 
sion upon  him. ' '  Joseph,  who  did  not  understand 
a  word  she  said,  answered,  ''Yes,  madam." — 
"Yes,  madam!"  replied  Mrs.  Slipslop  with  some 
warmth,  "Do  you  intend  to  result  my  passion? 
Is  it  not  enough,  ungrateful  as  you  are,  to  make 
no  return  to  all  the  favors  I  have  done  you;  but 
you  must  treat  me  with  ironing?  Barbarous 
monster!  how  have  I  deserved  that  my  passion 
should  be  resulted  and  treated  with  ironing?" 
"Madam,"  answered  Joseph,  "I  don't  under- 
stand your  hard  words ;  but  I  am  certain  you  have 
no  occasion  to  call  me  ungrateful,  for,  so  far  from 
intending  you  any  wrong,  I  have  always  loved  you 
as  well  as  if  you  had  been  my  own  mother." 
"How,  sirrah!"  says  Mrs.  Slipslop  in  a  rage; 
"your  own  mother?  Do  you  assinuate  that  I  am 
old  enough  to  be  your  mother?  I  don't  know  what 
a  stripling  may  think,  but  I  believe  a  man  would 
refer  me  to  any  green-sickness  silly  girl  what- 
somdever :  but  I  ought  to  despise  you  rather  than 
be  angiy  with  you,  for  referring  the  conversation 
of    girls    to    that    of    a    woman    of    sense." — 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  25 

*' Madam,"  says  Joseph,  ''I  am  sure  I  have  al- 
ways valued  the  honor  you  did  me  by  your  couver- 
sation,  for  I  know  you  are  a  woman  of  learning." 
— ''Yes,  but,  Joseph,"  said  she,  a  little  softened 
by  the  compliment  to  her  learning,  ''if  you  had  a 
value  for  me,  you  certainly  would  have  found  some 
method  of  showing  it  me;  for  I  am  convicted  you 
must  see  the  value  I  have  for  you.  Yes,  Joseph, 
my  eyes,  whether  I  would  or  no,  must  have  de- 
clared a  passion  1  cannot  conquer. — Oh !  Joseph !" 
As  when  a  hungry  tigress,  who  long  has  trav- 
ersed the  woods  in  fruitless  search,  sees  within  the 
reach  of  her  claws  a  lamb,  she  prepares  to  leap 
on  her  prey;  or  as  a  voracious  pike,  of  immense 
size,  surveys  through  the  liquid  element  a  roach 
or  gudgeon,  which  cannot  escape  her  jaws,  opens 
them  wide  to  swallow  the  little  fish;  so  did  Mrs. 
Slipslop  prepare  to  lay  her  violent  amorous  hands 
on  the  poor  Joseph,  when  luckily  her  mistress's 
bell  rung,  and  delivei-ed  the  intended  martyr  from 
her  clutches.  She  was  obliged  to  leave  him  ab- 
ruptly, and  to  defer  the  execution  of  her  purpose 
till  some  other  time.  We  shall  therefore  return  to 
the  Lady  Booby,  and  give  our  reader  some  account 
of  her  behavior,  after  she  was  left  by  Joseph  in  a 
temper  of  mind  not  greatly  different  from  that 
of  the  inflamed  Slipslop. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Sayings  of  wise  men.  A  dialogue  between  the  lady  and  her 
maid ;  and  a  panegyric,  or  rather  satire,  on  the  passion  of 
love,  in  the  sublime  style. 

IT  is  the  observation  of  some  ancient  sage, 
whose  name  I  have  forgot,  that  passions 
operate  differently  on  the  human  mind,  as 
diseases  on  the  body,  in  proportion  to  the  strength 
or  weakness,  soundness  or  rottenness,  of  the  one 
and  the  other. 

We  hope,  therefore,  a  judicious  reader  will  give 
himself  some  pains  to  observe,  what  we  have  so 
greatly  labored  to  describe,  the  different  opera- 
tions of  this  passion  of  love  in  the  gentle  and  cul- 
tivated mind  of  the  Lady  Booby,  from  those  which 
it  effected  in  the  less  polished  and  coarser  dis- 
position of  Mrs.  Slipslop. 

Another  philosopher,  whose  name  also  at  pres- 
ent escapes  my  memory,  hath  somewhere  said,  that 
resolutions  taken  in  the  absence  of  the  beloved 
object  are  verj^  apt  to  vanish  in  its  presence;  on 
both  which  wise  sayings  the  following  chapter 
may  serve  as  a  comment. 

No  sooner  had  Joseph  left  the  room  in  the  man- 
ner we  have  before  related  than  the  lady,  enraged 
at  her  disappointment,  began  to  reflect  with  se- 
verity on  her  conduct.  Her  love  was  now  changed 
to  disdain,  which  pride  assisted  to  torment  her. 

26 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  ^7 

ft 

She  despised  herself  for  the  meanness  of  her  pas- 
sion, and  Joseph  for  its  ill  success.  However,  she 
had  now  got  the  better  of  it  in  her  own  opinion, 
and  determined  immediately  to  dismiss  the  object. 
After  much  tossing  and  turning  in  her  bed,  and 
many  soliloquies,  which  if  we  had  no  better  mat- 
ter for  our  reader  we  would  give  him,  she  at  last 
rung  the  bell  as  above  mentioned,  and  was  pres- 
ently attended  by  Mrs.  Slipslop,  who  was  not 
much  better  pleased  with  Joseph  than  the  lady 
herself. 

*' Slipslop,"  said  Lady  Booby,  ''when  did  you 
see  Joseph?"  The  poor  woman  was  so  surprised 
at  the  unexpected  sound  of  his  name  at  so  critical 
a  time,  that  she  had  the  greatest  difficulty  to  con- 
ceal the  confusion  she  was  under  from  her  mis- 
tress; whom  she  answered,  nevertheless,  with 
pretty  good  confidence,  though  not  entirely  void 
of  fear  of  suspicion,  that  she  had  not  seen  him  that 
morning.  ''I  am  afraid,"  said  Lady  Booby,  "he 
is  a  wild  young  fellow." — "That  he  is,"  said  Slip- 
slop, "and  a  wicked  one  too.  To  my  knowledge 
he  games,  drinks,  swears,  and  fights  eternally; 
besides,  he  is  horribly  indicted  to  wenching." 
— "Ay!"  said  the  lady,  "I  never  heard  that  of 
him." — "0  madam!"  answered  the  other,  "he  is 
so  lewd  a  rascal,  that  if  your  ladyship  keeps  him 
much  longer,  you  will  not  have  one  virgin  in  your 
house  except  myself.  And  yet  I  can't  conceive 
what  the  wenches  see  in  him,  to  be  so  foolishly 
fond  as  they  are ;  in  my  eyes,  he  is  as  ugly  a  scare- 
crow as  I  ever  upheld." — "Nay,"  said  the  lady, 
"the  boy  is  well  enough." — "La!  ma'am,"  cries 


2S  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

Slipslop,  * '  I  think  him  the  ragmaticallest  fellow  in 
the  family." — ''Sure,  Slipslop,"  says  she,  "you 
are  mistaken :  but  which  of  the  women  do  you  most 
suspect?" — ''Madam,"  says  Slipslop,  "there  is 
Betty  the  chambermaid,  I  am  almost  convicted,  is 
with  child  by  him. ' ' — ' '  Ay ! ' '  says  the  lady,  ' '  then 
pray  pay  her  her  wages  instantly.  I  will  keep  no 
such  sluts  in  my  family.  And  as  for  Joseph,  you 
may  discard  him  too." — "Would  your  ladyship 
have  him  paid  off  immediately?"  cries  Slipslop, 
"for  perhaps,  when  Betty  is  gone  he  may  mend: 
and  really  the  boy  is  a  good  servant,  and  a  strong- 
healthy  luscious  boy  enough," — "This  morning," 
answered  the  lady  with  some  vehemence.  "I 
wisb,  madam,"  cries  Slipslop,  "your  ladyship 
would  be  so  good  as  to  try  him  a  little  longer." — 
"I  will  not  have  my  commands  disputed,"  said 
the  lady;  "sure  you  are  not  fond  of  him  your- 
self?"— "I,  madam!"  cries  Slipslop,  reddening, 
if  not  blushing,  "I  should  be  sorry  to  think  your 
ladyship  had  any  reason  to  respect  me  of  fondness 
for  a  fellow;  and  if  it  be  your  pleasure,  I  shall 
fullfil  it  with  as  much  reluctance  as  possible." — 
"As  little,  I  suppose  you  mean,"  said  the  lady; 
"and  so  about  it  instantly."  Mrs.  Slipslop  went 
out,  and  the  lady  had  scarce  taken  two  turns  be- 
fore she  fell  to  knocking  and  ringing  with  gTeat 
violence.  Slipslop,  who  did  not  travel  post  haste, 
soon  returned  and  was  countermanded  as  to  Jo- 
seph, but  ordered  to  send  Betty  about  her  busi- 
ness without  delay.  She  went  out  a  second  time 
with  much  greater  alacrity  than  before ;  when  the 
lady  began  immediately  to  accuse  herself  of  want 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  29 

of  resolution,  and  to  apprehend  the  return  of  her 
affection,  with  its  pernicious  consequences ;  she 
therefore  applied  herself  again  to  the  bell,  and  re- 
summoned Mrs.  Slipslop  into  her  presence;  who 
again  returned,  and  was  told  by  her  mistress  that 
she  had  considered  better  of  the  matter,  and  was 
absolutely  resolved  to  turn  away  Joseph;  which 
she  ordered  her  to  do  immediately.  Slipslop,  who 
knew  the  violence  of  her  lady's  temper,  and  would 
not  venture  her  place  for  any  Adonis  or  Hercules 
in  the  universe,  left  her  a  third  time;  which  she 
had  no  sooner  done,  than  the  little  god  Cupid, 
fearing  he  had  not  yet  done  the  lady's  business, 
took  a  fresh  arrow  with  the  sharpest  point  out  of 
his  quiver,  and  shot  it  directly  into  her  heart ;  in 
other  and  plainer  language,  the  lady's  passion  got 
the  better  of  her  reason.  She  called  back  Slip- 
slop once  more,  and  told  her  she  had  resolved  to 
see  the  boy,  and  examine  him  herself;  therefore 
bid  her  send  him  up.  This  wavering  in  her  mis- 
tress's temper  probably  put  something  into  the 
waiting-gentlewoman's  head  not  necessary  to  men- 
tion to  the  sagacious  reader. 

Lady  Booby  was  going  to  call  her  back  again, 
but  could  not  prevail  with  herself.  The  next  con- 
sideration therefore  was,  how  she  should  behave 
to  Joseph  when  he  came  in.  She  resolved  to  pre- 
serve all  the  dignity  of  the  woman  of  fashion  to 
her  servant,  and  to  indulge  herself  in  this  last 
view  of  Joseph  (for  that  she  was  most  certainly 
resolved  it  should  be)  at  his  own  expense,  by  first 
insulting  and  then  discarding  him. 

0  Love,  what  monstrous  tricks  dost  thou  play 


30  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

with  thy  votaries  of  both  sexes!  How  dost  thou 
deceive  them,  and  make  them  deceive  themselves  I 
Their  follies  are  thy  delight!  Their  sighs  make 
thee  laugh,  and  their  pangs  are  thy  merriment ! 

Not  the  great  Rich,  who  turns  men  into  monkeys, 
wheel-barrows,  and  whatever  else  best  humors  his 
fancy,  hath  so  strangely  metamorphosed  the  hu- 
man shape;  nor  the  great  Cibber,  who  confounds 
all  number,  gender,  and  breaks  through  every  rule 
of  grammar  at  his  will,  hath  so  distorted  the 
English  language  as  thou  doth  metamorphose  and 
distort  the  human  senses. 

Thou  puttest  out  our  eyes,  stoppest  up  our  ears, 
and  takest  away  the  power  of  our  nostrils;  so  that 
we  can  neither  see  the  largest  object,  hear  the 
loudest  noise,  nor  smell  the  most  poignant  per- 
fume. Again,  when  thou  pleasest,  thou  canst 
make  a  molehill  appear  as  a  mountain,  a  Jew's- 
harp  sound  like  a  trumpet,  and  a  daisy  smell  like 
a  violet.  Thou  canst  make  cowardice  brave, 
avarice  generous,  pride  humble,  and  cruelty  ten- 
der-hearted. In  short,  thou  turnest  the  heart  of 
man  inside  out,  as  a  juggler  doth  a  petticoat,  and 
bringest  whatsoever  pleaseth  thee  out  from  it.  If 
there  be  any  one  who  doubts  all  this,  let  him  read 
the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

In  which,  after  some  very  fine  writing,  the  history  goes  on, 
and  relates  the  interview  between  the  lady  and  Joseph; 
where  the  latter  hath  set  an  example  which  we  despair  of 
seeing  followed  by  his  sex  in  this  vicious  age. 

NOW  tlie  rake  Hesperus  bad  called  for  his 
breeches,  and,  having  well  rubbed  his 
drowsy  eyes,  prepared  to  dress  himself 
for  all  night ;  by  whose  example  his  brother  rakes 
on  earth  likewise  leave  those  beds  in  which  they 
had  slept  away  the  day.  Now  Thetis,  the  good 
housewife,  began  to  put  on  the  pot,  in  order  to  re- 
gale the  good  man  Phoebus  after  his  daily  labors 
were  over.  In  vulgar  language,  it  was  in  the 
evening  when  Joseph  attended  his  lady's  orders. 

But  as  it  becomes  us  to  preserve  the  character 
of  this  lady,  who  is  the  heroine  of  our  tale;  and 
as  we  have  naturally  a  wonderful  tenderness  for 
that  beautiful  part  of  the  human  species  called 
the  fair  sex;  before  we  discover  too  much  of  her 
frailty  to  our  reader,  it  will  be  proper  to  give  him 
a  lively  idea  of  the  vast  temptation,  which  over- 
came all  the  efforts  of  a  modest  and  virtuous 
mind;  and  then  we  humbly  hope  his  good  nature 
will  rather  pity  than  condemn  the  imperfection  of 
human  virtue. 

Nay,  the  ladies  themselves  will,  we  hope,  be  in- 
duced, by  considering  the  uncommon  variety  of 

31 


32  THE  HISTORY  OF 

charms  which  united  iu  this  young  man's  person, 
to  bridle  their  rampant  passion  for  chastity,  and 
be  at  least  as  mild  as  their  violent  modesty  and 
virtue  will  permit  them,  in  censuring  the  conduct 
of  a  woman  who,  j)erhaps,  was  in  her  own  disposi- 
tion as  chaste  as  those  pure  and  sanctified  virgins 
who,  after  a  life  innocently  spent  in  the  gayeties 
of  the  town,  begin  about  fifty  to  attend  twice  per 
diem  at  the  polite  churches  and  chapels,  to  return 
thanks  for  the  grace  which  preserved  them  form- 
erly amongst  beaux  from  temptations  perhaps  less 
l^owerful  than  what  now  attacked  the  Lady  Booby. 
Mr.  Joseph  Andrews  was  now  in  the  one-and- 
twentieth  year  of  his  age.  He  was  of  the  highest 
degree  of  middle  stature;  his  limbs  were  put  to- 
gether with  great  elegance,  and  no  less  strength; 
his  legs  and  thighs  were  formed  in  the  exactest 
proportion ;  his  shoulders  were  broad  and  brawny, 
but  yet  his  arm  hung  so  easily,  that  he  had  all  the 
symptoms  of  strength  without  the  least  clumsi- 
ness. His  hair  was  of  a  nut-brown  color,  and  was 
displayed  in  wanton  ringlets  down  his  back;  his 
forehead  was  high,  his  eyes  dark,  and  as  full  of 
sweetness  as  of  fire;  his  nose  a  little  inclined  to 
the  Roman;  his  teeth  white  and  even;  his  lips 
full,  red,  and  soft;  his  beard  was  only  rough  on 
his  chin  and  upper  lip ;  but  his  cheeks,  in  which  his 
blood  glowed,  were  overspread  with  a  thick  down ; 
his  countenance  had  a  tenderness  joined  with  a 
sensibility  inexpressible.  Add  to  this  the  most 
perfect  neatness  in  his  dress,  and  an  air  which, 
to  those  who  have  not  seen  many  noblernen,  would 
give  an  idea  of  nobility. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  33 

Such  was  the  person  who  now  appeared  before 
the  lady.  She  viewed  him  some  time  in  silence, 
and  twice  or  thrice  before  she  spake  changed  her 
mind  as  to  the  manner  in  which  she  should  begin. 
At  length  she  said  to  him,  ''Joseph,  I  am  sorry  to 
hear  such  complaints  against  you:  I  am  told  you 
behave  so  rudely  to  the  maids,  that  they  cannot 
do  their  business  in  quiet;  I  mean  those  who  are 
not  wicked  enough  to  hearken  to  your  solicita- 
tions. As  to  others,  they  may,  perhaps,  not  call 
you  rude;  for  there  are  wicked  sluts  who  make 
one  ashamed  of  one's  own  sex,  and  are  as  ready 
to  admit  any  nauseous  familiarity  as  fellows  to 
offer  it :  nay,  there  are  such  in  my  family,  but  they 
shall  not  stay  in  it;  that  impudent  trollop  who  is 
with  child  by  you  is  discharged  by  this  time." 

As  a  person  who  is  struck  through  the  heart 
with  a  thunderbolt  looks  extremely  surprised,  nay, 

and  perhaps  is  so  too thus  the  poor  Joseph 

received  the  false  accusation  of  his  mistress;  he 
blushed  and  looked  confounded,  which  she  misin- 
terpreted to  be  symptoms  of  his  guilt,  and  thus 
went  on : — 

"Come  hither,  Joseph:  another  mistress  might 
discard  you  for  these  offenses;  but  I  have  a  com^ 
passion  for  your  youth,  and  if  I  could  be  certain 
you  would  be  no  more  guilty — Consider,  child," 
laying  her  hand  carelessly  upon  his,  "you  are  a 
handsome  young  fellow,  and  might  do  l)etter ;  you 
might  make  your  fortune."  "Madam,"  said  Jo- 
seph, "I  do  assure  your  ladyship  I  don't  know 
whether  any  maid  in  the  house  is  man  or  woman," 
"Oh,  fie!  Joseph,"  answered  the  lady,   "don't 

1—3 


34  THE  HISTORY  OF 

commit  another  crime  in  denying  the  truth.  I 
could  pardon  the  first;  but  I  hate  a  liar." 
''Madam,"  cries  Joseph,  "I  hope  your  ladyship 
will  not  be  offended  at  m}'  asserting  my  innocence; 
for,  by  all  that  is  sacred,  I  have  never  offered 
more  than  kissing."  ''Kissing!"  said  the  lady, 
with  great  discomposure  of  countenance,  and  more 
redness  in  her  cheeks  than  anger  in  her  eyes;  "do 
you  call  that  no  crime?  Kissing,  Joseph,  is  as 
a  prologue  to  a  play.  Can  I  believe  a  young  fellow 
of  your  age  and  complexion  will  be  content  with 
kissing?  No,  Joseph,  there  is  no  woman  who 
grants  that  but  will  grant  more;  and  I  am  de- 
ceived greatly  in  you  if  you  would  not  put  her 
closely  to  it.  What  would  you  think,  Joseph,  if  I 
admitted  you  to  kiss  me?"  Joseph  replied  he 
would  sooner  die  than  have  any  such  thought. 
"And  yet,  Joseph,"  returned  she,  "ladies  have 
admitted  their  footmen  to  such  familiarities;  and 
footmen,  I  confess  to  you,  much  less  deserving 
them ;  fellows  without  half  your  charms — for  such 
might  almost  excuse  the  crime.  Tell  me  there- 
fore, Joseph,  if  I  should  admit  jou  to  such 
freedom,  what  would  you  think  of  me? — tell  me 
freely."  "Madam,"  said  Joseph,  "I  should 
think  your  ladyship  condescended  a  great  deal  be- 
low yourself."  "Pugh!"  said  she;  "that  I  am  to 
answer  to  myself:  but  would  not  you  insist  on 
more?  Would  you  be  contented  with  a  kiss? 
Would  not  your  inclinations  be  all  on  fire  rather 
by  such  a  favor?"  "Madam,"  said  Joseph,  "if 
they  were,  I  hope  I  should  be  able  to  control  them, 
without  suffering  them  to  get  the  better  of  myj 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  35 

virtue."  You  have  heard,  reader,  poets  talk  of 
the  statue  of  Surprise;  you  have  heard  likewise, 
or  else  you  have  heard  very  little,  how  Surprise 
made  one  of  the  sons  of  Croesus  speak,  though 
he  was  dumb.  You  have  seen  the  faces,  in  the 
eighteen-penny  gallery,  when,  through  the  trap- 
door, to  soft  or  no  music,  Mr.  Bridgewater,  Mr. 
William  Mills,  or  some  other  of  ghostly  appear- 
ance, hath  ascended,  with  a  face  all  pale  with  pow- 
der, and  a  shirt  all  bloody  with  ribbons; — but 
from  none  of  these,  nor  from  Phidias  or  Praxiteles, 
if  they  should  return  to  life — ^no,  not  from  the 
inimitable  pencil  of  my  friend  Hogarth,  could  you 
receive  such  an  idea  of  surprise  as  would  have 
entered  in  at  your  eyes  had  they  beheld  Lady 
Booby  when  those  last  words  issued  out  from  the 
lips  of  Joseph.  ''Your  virtue!"  said  the  lady, 
recovering  after  a  silence  of  two  minutes;  ''I  shall 
never  survive  it.  Your  virtue! — intolerable  con- 
fidence !  Have  you  the  assurance  to  pretend,  that 
when  a  lady  demeans  herself  to  throw  aside  th^ 
rules  of  decency,  in  order  to  honor  you  with  the 
highest  favor  in  her  power,  your  virtue  should  re- 
sist her  inclination?  that,  when  she  had  conquered 
her  own  virtue,  she  should  find  an  obstruction  in 
yours?"  "Madam,"  said  Joseph,  *'I  can't  see 
why  her  having  no  virtue  should  be  a  reason 
against  my  having  any;  or  why,  because  I  am  a 
man,  or  because  I  am  poor,  my  virtue  must  be 
subservient  to  her  pleasures."  *'I  am  out  of 
patience,"  cries  the  lady:  ''did  ever  mortal  hear 
of  a  man's  virtue?  Did  ever  the  greatest  or  the 
gravest  men  pretend  to  any  of  this  kind?    Will 


36  THE  HISTORY  OF 

magistrates  who  punish  lewdness,  or  parsons  who 
preach  against  it,  make  any  scruple  of  committing 
it?  And  can  a  boy,  a  stripling,  have  the  confi- 
dence to  talk  of  his  virtue?"  ''Madam,"  says 
Joseph,  *'that  boy  is  the  brother  of  Pamela,  and 
would  be  ashamed  that  the  chastity  of  his  family, 
which  is  preserved  in  her,  should  be  stained  in 
him.  If  there  are  such  men  as  your  ladyship 
mentions,  I  am  sorry  for  it;  and  I  wish  they  had 
an  opportunity  of  reading  over  those  letters  which 
my  father  hath  sent  me  of  my  sister  Pamela's; 
nor  do  I  doubt  but  such  an  example  would  amend 
them. "  ' '  You  impudent  villain ! ' '  cries  the  lady 
in  a  rage;  ''do  you  insult  me  with  the  follies  of 
my  relation,  who  hath  exposed  himself  all  over 
the  country  upon  your  sister's  account?  a  little 
vixen,  whom  I  have  always  wondered  my  late 
Lady  Booby  ever  kept  in  her  house.  Sirrah !  get 
out  of  my  sight,  and  prepare  to  set  out  this  night ; 
for  I  will  order  you  your  wages  immediately,  and 
you  shall  be  stripped  and  turned  away." 
"Madam,"  says  Joseph,  "I  am  sorry  I  have  of- 
fended your  ladyship,  I  am  sure  I  never  intended 
it."  "Yes,  sirrah,"  cries  she,  "you  have  had  the 
vanity  to  misconstrue  the  little  innocent  freedom 
I  took,  in  order  to  try  whether  what  I  had  heard 
was  true.  0'  my  conscience,  you  have  had  the 
assurance  to  imagine  I  was  fond  of  you  myself." 
Joseph  answered,  he  had  only  spoke  out  of  tender- 
ness for  his  virtue;  at  which  words  she  flew  into  a 
violent  passion,  and  refusing  to  hear  more,  or- 
dered him  instantly  to  leave  the  room. 

He  was  no  sooner  ^one  than  she  burst  forth 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  37 

Into  the  following  exclamation: — "Whither  doth 
this  violent  passion  hurry  us?  What  meannesses 
do  we  submit  to  from  its  impulse!  Wisely  we 
resist  its  first  and  least  approaches;  for  it  is 
then  only  we  can  assure  ourselves  the  victory.  No 
woman  could  ever  safely  say,  so  far  only  will  I 
go.  Have  I  not  exposed  myself  to  the  refusal  of 
my  footman?  I  cannot  bear  the  reflection." 
Upon  which  she  applied  herself  to  the  bell,  and 
rung  it  with  infinite  more  violence  than  was  neces- 
sary— the  faithful  Slipslop  attending  near  at 
hand:  to  say  the  truth,  she  had  conceived  a  sus- 
picion at  her  last  interview  with  her  mistress,  and 
had  waited  ever  since  in  the  antechamber,  having 
carefully  applied  her  ears  to  the  keyhole  during 
the  whole  time  that  the  preceding  conversation 
passed  between  Joseph  and  the  lady. 


CHAPTER  IX 

What  passed  between  the  lady  and  Mrs.  Slipslop ;  in  which  we 
prophesy  there  are  some  strokes  which  every  one  will  not 
truly  comprehend  at  the  first  reading. 


S' 


^  ^  i^  LIPSLOP, ' '  said  the  lady, ' '  I  find  too  much 
reason  to  believe  all  thou  hast  told  me  of 
this  wicked  Joseph ;  I  have  determined  to 
part  with  him  instantly ;  so  go  you  to  the  steward, 
and  bid  him  pay  his  wages."  Slipslop,  who  had 
preserved  hitherto  a  distance  to  her  lady — rather 
out  of  necessity  than  inclination — and  who  thought 
the  knowledge  of  this  secret  had  thrown  down  all 
distinction  between  them,  answered  her  mistress 
very  pertly — "She  wished  she  knew  her  own 
mind ;  and  that  she  was  certain  she  would  call  her 
back  again  before  she  was  got  half-way  down- 
stairs." The  lady  replied,  she  had  taken  a  reso- 
lution, and  was  resolved  to  keep  it.  ''I  am  sorry 
for  it,"  cries  Slipslop,  ''and,  if  I  had  known  you 
would  have  punished  the  poor  lad  so  severely, 
you  should  never  have  heard  a  particle  of  the 
matter.  Here's  a  fuss  indeed  about  nothing!" 
''Nothing!"  returned  my  lady;  "do  you  think  I 
will  countenance  lewdness  in  my  house?"  "If 
you  will  turn  away  every  footman,"  said  Slipslop, 
"that  is  a  lover  of  the  sport,  you  must  soon  open 
the  coach  door  yourself,  or  get  a  set  of  mophro- 
dites  to  wait  upon  you ;  and  I  am  sure  I  hated  the 
sight  of  them  even  singing  in  an  opera."    "Do  as 

38 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  39 

I  bid  you,"  says  my  lady,  ''and  don't  shock  my 
ears  with  3'our  beastly  language. "  "  Marry-come- 
up,"  cries  Slipslop,  "people's  ears  are  sometimes 
the  nicest  part  about  them." 

The  lady,  who  began  to  admire  the  new  style  in 
which  her  waiting-gentlewoman  delivered  herself, 
and  by  the  conclusion  of  her  speech  suspected 
somewhat  of  the  truth,  called  her  back,  and  de- 
sired to  know  what  she  meant  by  the  extraordi- 
nary degree  of  freedom  in  which  she  thought 
proper  to  indulge  her  tongue.  "Freedom!"  says 
Slipslop;  "I  don't  know  what  you  call  freedom, 
madam;  servants  have  tongues  as  well  as  their 
mistresses."  "Yes,  and  saucy  ones  too,"  an- 
swered the  lady;  "but  I  assure  you  I  shall  bear  no 
such  impertinence."  "Impertinence!  I  don't 
know  that  I  am  impertinent,"  says  Slipslop. 
"Yes,  indeed  you  are,"  cries  my  lady,  "and,  un- 
less you  mend  your  manners,  this  house  is  no  place 
for  you."  "Manners!"  cries  Slipslop;  "I  never 
was  thought  to  want  manners  nor  modesty  neither ; 
and  for  places,  there  are  more  places  than  one; 
and  I  know  what  I  know."  "What  do  you  know, 
mistress  ? ' '  answered  the  lady.  ' '  I  am  not  obliged 
to  tell  that  to  everybody,"  says  Slipslop,  "any 
more  than  I  am  obliged  to  keep  it  a  secret."  "I 
desire  you  would  provide  yourself,"  answered 
the  lady.  "With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the 
waiting-gentlewoman;  and  so  departed  in  a  pas- 
sion, and  slapped  the  door  after  her. 

The  lady  too  plainly  perceived  that  her  waiting- 
gentlewoman  knew  more  than  she  would  willingly 
have  had  her  acquainted  with;  and  this  she  im- 


40  THE  HISTORY  OF 

puted  to  Joseph's  having  discovered  to  her  what 
passed  at  the  first  interview.  This,  therefore, 
l)lew  up  her  rage  against  him,  and  confirmed  her 
in  a  resolution  of  parting  with  him. 

But  the  dismissing  Mrs.  Slipslop  was  a  point  not 
so  easily  to  be  resolved  upon.  She  had  the  utmost 
tenderness  for  her  reputation,  as  she  knew  on  that 
dejDended  many  of  the  most  valuable  blessings  of 
life ;  particularly  cards,  making  courtesies  in  public 
places,  and,  above  all,  the  pleasure  of  demolishing 
the  reputations  of  others,  in  which  innocent 
amusement  she  had  an  extraordinary  delight.  She 
therefore  determined  to  submit  to  any  insult  from 
a  servant,  rather  than  run  a  risk  of  losing  the  title 
to  so  many  great  privileges. 

She  therefore  sent  for  her  steward,  Mr.  Peter 
Pounce,  and  ordered  him  to  pay  Joseph  his  wages, 
to  strip  otf  his  livery,  and  to  turn  him  out  of  the 
house  that  evening. 

She  then  called  Slipslop  up,  and,  after  refresh- 
ing her  spirits  with  a  small  cordial,  which  she  kept 
in  her  closet,  she  began  in  the  following  manner : — 

"Slipslop,  why  will  you,  who  know  my  passion- 
ate temper,  attempt  to  provoke  me  by  your  an- 
swers? I  am  convinced  you  are  an  honest  serv- 
ant, and  should  be  very  unwilling  to  part  with  you. 
I  believe,  likewise,  you  have  found  me  an  indulgent 
mistress  on  many  occasions,  and  have  as  little  rea- 
son on  your  side  to  desire  a  change.  I  can't  help 
being  surprised,  therefore,  that  you  will  take  the 
surest  method  to  offend  me — I  mean,  repeating 
my  words,  which  you  know  I  have  always  de- 
tested." 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  41 

The  prudent  waiting-gentlewoman  had  duly 
weighed  the  whole  matter,  and  found,  on  mature 
deliberation,  that  a  good  place  in  possession  was 
better  than  one  in  expectation.  As  she  found  her 
mistress,  therefore,  inclined  to  relent,  she  thought 
proper  also  to  put  on  some  small  condescension, 
which  was  as  readily  accepted;  and  so  the  affair 
was  reconciled,  all  offenses  forgiven,  and  a  pres- 
ent of  a  gown  and  petticoat  made  her,  as  an  in- 
stance of  her  lady's  future  favor. 

She  offered  once  or  twice  to  speak  in  favor  of 
Joseph;  but  found  her  lady's  heart  so  obdurate, 
that  she  prudently  dropped  all  such  efforts.  She 
considered  there  were  more  footmen  in  the  house, 
and  some  as  stout  fellows,  though  not  quite  so 
handsome,  as  Joseph;  besides,  the  reader  hath  al- 
ready seen  her  tender  advances  had  not  met  with 
the  encouragement  she  might  have  reasonably  ex- 
pected. She  thought  she  had  thrown  away  a  great 
deal  of  sack  and  sweetmeats  on  an  ungrateful 
rascal;  and,  being  a  little  inclined  to  the  opinion 
of  that  female  sect,  who  hold  one  lusty  young  fel- 
low to  be  nearly  as  good  as  another  lusty  young 
fellow,  she  at  last  gave  up  Joseph  and  his  cause, 
and,  with  a  triumph  over  her  passion  highly  com- 
mendable, walked  off  with  her  present,  and  with 
great  tranquillity  paid  a  visit  to  a  stone-bottle, 
which  is  of  sovereign  use  to  a  philosophical  tem- 
per. 

She  left  not  her  mistress  so  easy.  The  poor 
lady  could  not  reflect  without  agony  that  her  dear 
reputation  was  in  the  power  of  her  servants.  All 
her  comfort  as  to  Joseph  was,  that  she  hoped  he 


42  THE  HISTORY  OF 

did  not  understand  lier  meaning;  at  least  she 
could  say  for  herself,  she  had  not  plainly  ex- 
pressed anything  to  him ;  and  as  to  Mrs.  Slipslop, 
she  imagined  she  could  bribe  her  to  secrecy. 

But  what  hurt  her  most  was,  that  in  reality  she 
had  not  so  entirely  conquered  her  passion ;  the  lit- 
tle god  lay  lurking  in  her  heart,  though  anger 
and  disdain  so  hoodwinked  her,  that  she  could  not 
see  him.  She  was  a  thousand  times  on  the  very 
brink  of  revoking  the  sentence  she  had  passed 
against  the  poor  youth.  Love  became  his  advo- 
cate, and  whispered  many  things  in  his  favor. 
Honor  likewise  endeavored  to  vindicate  his  crime, 
and  Pity  to  mitigate  his  punishment.  On  the 
other  side,  Pride  and  Revenge  spoke  as  loudly 
against  him.  And  thus  the  poor  lady  was  tor- 
tured with  perplexity,  opposite  passions  distract- 
ing and  tearing  her  mind  different  ways. 

So  have  I  seen,  in  the  hall  of  Westminster, 
where  Sergeant  Bramble  hath  been  retained  on 
the  right  side,  and  Sergeant  Puzzle  on  the  left, 
the  balance  of  opinion  (so  equal  were  their  fees) 
alternately  incline  to  either  scale.  Now  Bramble 
throws  in  an  argument,  and  Puzzle's  scale  strikes 
the  beam;  again  Bramble  shares  the  like  fate, 
overpowered  by  the  weight  of  puzzle.  Here 
Bramble  hits,  there  Puzzle  strikes;  here  one  has 
you,  there  t'other  has  you;  till  at  last  all  becomes 
one  scene  of  confusion  in  the  tortured  minds  of 
the  hearers ;  equal  wagers  are  laid  on  the  success, 
and  neither  judge  nor  jury  can  possibly  make  any- 
thing of  the  matter ;  all  things  are  so  enveloped  by 
the  careful  sergeants  in  doubt  and  obscurity. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  43 

Or,  as  it  happens  in  the  conscience,  where  honor 
and  honesty  pull  one  way,  and  a  bribe  and  neces- 
sity another. If  it  was  our  present  business 

only  to  make  similes,  we  could  produce  many  more 
to  this  purpose;  but  a  simile  (as  well  as  a  word) 
to  the  wise. — ^We  shall  therefore  see  a  little  after 
our  hero,  for  whom  the  reader  is  doubtless  in 
some  pain. 


CHAPTER  X 

Joseph  vsa*ites  another  letter:  his  transactions  with  Mr.  Peter 
Pounce,  &c.,  with  his  departure  from  Lady  Booby. 

THE  disconsolate  Joseph  would  not  have 
had  an  understanding  sufficient  for  the 
principal  subject  of  such  a  book  as  this, 
if  he  had  any  longer  misunderstood  the  drift  of 
his  mistress ;  and  indeed,  that  he  did  not  discern  it 
sooner,  the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  impute  to  an 
unwillingness  in  him  to  discover  what  he  must 
condemn  in  her  as  a  fault.  Having  therefore 
quitted  her  presence,  he  retired  into  his  own  gar- 
ret, and  entered  himself  into  an  ejaculation  on  the 
numberless  calamities  which  attended  beauty,  and 
the  misfortune  it  was  to  be  handsomer  than  one's 
neighbors. 

He  then  sat  down,  and  addressed  himself  to  his 
sister  Pamela  in  the  following  words : — 

''Dear  Sister  Pamela, — Hoping  you  are  well, 
what  news  have  I  to  tell  you !  0  Pamela  !  my  mis- 
tress is  fallen  in  love  with  me — that  is,  what  great 
folks  call  falling  in  love — she  has  a  mind  to  ruin 
me;  but  T  hoi)e  T  shall  have  more  resolution  and 
more  grace  than  to  part  with  my  virtue  to  any 
lady  upon  earth. 

"Mr  Adams  hath  often  told  me,  that  chastity 
is  as  great  a  virtue  in  a  man  as  in  a  woman.    He 

44 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  45 

says  he  never  knew  any  more  than  his  wife,  and  I 
shall  endeavor  to  follow  his  example.  Indeed,  it 
is  owing  entirely  to  his  excellent  sermons  and  ad- 
vice, together  with  your  letters,  that  I  have  been 
able  to  resist  a  temptation,  which,  he  says,  no  man 
complies  with,  but  he  repents  in  this  world,  or  is 
damned  for  it  in  the  next ;  and  why  should  I  trust 
to  repentance  on  my  deathbed,  since  I  may  die  in 
my  sleep?  What  fine  things  are  good  advice  and 
good  examples !  But  I  am  glad  she  turned  me  out 
of  the  chamber  as  she  did :  for  I  had  once  almost 
forgotten  every  word  parson  Adams  had  ever 
said  to  me. 

^'I  don't  doubt,  dear  sister,  but  you  will  have 
grace  to  preserve  your  virtue  against  all  trials; 
and  I  beg  you  earnestly  to  jDray  I  may  be  enabled 
to  preserve  mine ;  for  truly  it  is  very  severely  at- 
tacked by  more  than  one ;  but  I  hope  I  shall  copy 
your  example,  and  that  of  Joseph  my  namesake, 
and  maintain  my  virtue  against  all  temptations." 

Joseph  had  not  finished  his  letter  when  he  was 
summoned  downstairs  by  Mr.  Peter  Pounce,  to  re- 
ceive his  wages;  for,  besides  that  out  of  eight 
pounds  a  year  he  allowed  his  father  and  mother 
four,  he  had  been  obliged;  in  order  to  furnish  him- 
self with  musical  instruments,  to  apply  to  the  gen- 
erosity of  the  aforesaid  Peter,  who,  on  urgent  oc- 
casions, used  to  advance  the  servants  their  wages : 
not  before  they  were  due,  but  before  they  were 
payable;  that  is,  perhaps,  half  a  year  after  they 
were  due;  and  this  at  the  moderate  premium  of 
fifty  per  cent,  or  a  little  more :  by  which  charitable 


46  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

methods,  together  with  lending  money  to  other 
people,  and  even  to  his  own  master  and  mistress, 
the  honest  man  had,  from  nothing,  in  a  few  years 
amassed  a  small  sum  of  twenty  thousand  pounds 
or  thereabouts. 

Joseph  having  received  his  little  remainder  of 
wages,  and  having  stripped  off  his  livery,  was 
forced  to  borrow  a  frock  and  breeches  of  one  of 
the  servants  (for  he  was  so  beloved  in  the  family, 
that  they  would  all  have  lent  him  anything) :  and, 
being  told  by  Peter  that  he  must  not  stay  a  mo- 
ment longer  in  the  house  than  was  necessary  to 
pack  up  his  linen,  which  he  easily  did  in  a  very 
narrow  compass,  he  took  a  melancholy  leave  of 
his  fellow-servants,  and  set  out  at  seven  in  the 
evening. 

He  had  proceeded  the  length  of  two  or  three 
streets,  before  he  absolutely  determined  with  him- 
self whether  he  should  leave  the  town  that  night, 
or,  procuring  a  lodging,  wait  till  the  morning.  At 
last,  the  moon  shining  very  bright  helped  him  to 
come  to  a  resolution  of  beginning  his  journey  im- 
mediately, to  which  likewise  he  had  some  other  in- 
ducements ;  which  the  reader,  without  being  a  con- 
jurer, cannot  possibly  guess,  till  we  have  given 
him  those  hints  which  it  may  be  now  proper  to 
open. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Of  several  new  matters  not  expected. 

IT  is  an  observation  sometimes  made,  that  to 
indicate  our  idea  of  a  simple  fellow,  we  say, 
he  is  easily  to  be  seen  through:  nor  do  I  be- 
lieve it  a  more  improper  denotation  of  a  simple 
book.  Instead  of  applying  this  to  any  particular 
performance,  we  choose  rather  to  remark  the  con- 
trary in  this  history,  where  the  scene  opens  itself 
by  small  degrees;  and  he  is  a  sagacious  reader 
who  can  see  two  chapters  before  him. 

For  this  reason,  we  have  not  hitherto  hinted  a 
matter  which  now  seems  necessary  to  be  explained ; 
since  it  may  be  wondered  at,  first,  that  Joseph 
made  such  extraordinary  haste  out  of  town,  which 
hath  been  already  shown ;  and  secondly,  which  will 
be  now  shown,  that,  instead  of  proceeding  to  the 
habitation  of  his  father  and  mother,  or  to  his  be- 
loved sister  Pamela,  he  chose  rather  to  set  out  full 
speed  to  the  Lady  Booby's  country-seat,  which  he 
had  left  on  his  journey  to  London. 

Be  it  known,  then,  that  in  the  same  parish  where 
this  seat  stood  there  lived  a  young  girl  whom  Jo- 
seph (though  the  best  of  sons  and  brothers) 
longed  more  impatiently  to  see  than  his  parents 
or  his  sister.  She  was  a  poor  girl,  who  had  form- 
erly been  bred  up  in  Sir  John's  family;  whence, 
a  little  before  the  journey  to  London,  she  had  been 

47 


48  THE  HISTORY  OF 

discarded  by  Mrs.  Slipslop,  on  account  of  her  ex- 
traordinary beauty:  for  I  never  could  find  any 
other  reason. 

This  young  creature  (who  now  lived  with  a 
farmer  in  the  parish)  had  been  always  beloved 
by  Josei:)h,  and  returned  his  affection.  She  was 
two  years  only  younger  than  our  hero.  They  had 
been  acquainted  from  therir  infancy,  and  had  con- 
ceived a  very  early  liking  for  each  other;  which 
had  grown  to  such  a  degree  of  affection,  that  Mr. 
Adams  had  with  much  ado  prevented  them  from 
marrying,  and  persuaded  them  to  wait  till  a  few 
years'  service  and  thrift  had  a  little  improved 
their  experience,  and  enabled  them  to  live  com- 
fortably together. 

They  followed  this  good  man's  advice,  as  indeed 
his  word  was  little  less  than  a  law  in  his  parish; 
for  as  he  had  shown  his  parishioners,  by  an  uni- 
form behavior  of  thirty-five  years'  duration,  that 
he  had  their  good  entirely  at  heart,  so  they  con- 
sulted him  on  every  occasion,  and  very  seldom 
acted  contrary  to  his  opinion. 

Nothing  can  be  imagined  more  tender  than  was 
the  parting  between  these  two  lovers.  A  thousand 
sighs  heaved  the  bosom  of  Joseph,  a  thousand 
tears  distilled  from  the  lovely  eyes  of  Fanny  (for 
that  was  her  name).  Though  her  modesty  would 
only  suffer  her  to  admit  his  eager  kisses,  her  vio- 
lent love  made  her  more  than  passive  in  his  em- 
braces; and  she  often  pulled  him  to  her  breast 
with  a  soft  pressure,  which  though  perhaps  it 
would  not  have  squeezed  an  insect  to  death,  caused 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  49 

more  emotion  in  the  heart  of  Joseph  than  the 
closest  Cornish  hug  could  have  done. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  wonder  that  so  fond  a 
pair  should,  during  a  twelvemonth's  absence, 
never  converse  with  one  another:  indeed,  there 
was  but  one  reason  which  did  or  could  have  pre- 
vented them ;  and  this  was,  that  poor  Fanny  could 
neither  write  nor  read :  nor  could  she  be  prevailed 
upon  to  transmit  the  delicacies  of  her  tender  and 
chaste  passion  by  the  hands  of  an  amanuensis. 

They  contented  themselves  therefore  with  fre- 
quent inquiries  after  each  other's  health,  with  a 
mutual  confidence  in  each  other's  fidelity,  and  the 
prospect  of  their  future  happiness. 

Having  explained  these  matters  to  our  reader, 
and,  as  far  as  possible,  satisfied  all  his  doubts, 
we  return  to  honest  Joseph,  whom  we  left  just  set 
out  on  his  travels  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Those  who  have  read  any  romance  or  poetry, 
ancient  or  modern,  must  have  been  informed  that 
love  hath  wings :  by  which  they  are  not  to  under- 
stand, as  some  young  ladies  by  mistake  have 
done,  that  a  lover  can  fly;  the  writers,  by  this  in- 
genious allegory,  intending  to  insinuate  no  more 
than  that  lovers  do  not  march  like  horse-guards; 
in  short,  that  they  put  the  best  leg  foremost ;  which 
our  lusty  youth,  who  could  walk  with  any  man, 
did  so  heartily  on  this  occasion,  that  within  four 
hours  he  reached  a  famous  house  of  hospitality 
well  known  to  the  western  traveler.  It  presents 
you  a  lion  on  the  sign-post:  and  the  master,  who 
was   christened   Timotheus,   is   commonly   called 

1—4 


50  THE  HISTORY  OF 

plain  Tim.  Some  bath  conceived  that  he  hath 
particularly  chosen  the  lion  for  his  sign,  as  he 
doth  in  countenance  greatly  resemble  that  mag- 
nanimous beast,  though  his  disposition  savors 
more  of  the  sweetness  of  the  lamb.  He  is  a  per- 
son well  received  among  all  sorts  of  men,  being 
qualified  to  render  himself  agreeable  to  any ;  as  he 
is  well  versed  in  history  and  politics,  hath  a  smat- 
tering in  law  and  divinity,  cracks  a  good  jest,  and 
plays  wonderfully  well  on  the  French  horn. 

A  violent  storm  of  hail  forced  Joseph  to  take 
shelter  in  this  inn,  where  he  remembered  Sir 
Thomas  had  dined  in  his  way  to  town.  Joseph 
had  no  sooner  seated  himself  by  the  kitchen  fire 
than  Timotheus,  observing  his  livery,  began  to 
condole  the  loss  of  his  late  master;  who  was,  he 
said,  his  very  particular  and  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, with  whom  he  had  cracked  many  a  merry 
bottle,  ay  many  a  dozen^  in  his  time.  He  then  re- 
marked, that  all  these  things  were  over  now,  all 
passed,  and  just  as  if  they  had  never  been;  and 
concluded  with  an  excellent  observation  on  the 
certainty  of  death,  which  his  wife  said  was  indeed 
very  true.  A  fellow  now  arrived  at  the  same  inn 
with  two  horses,  one  of  which  he  was  leading 
farther  down  into  the  country  to  meet  his  master; 
these  he  put  into  the  stable,  and  came  and  took  his 
place  by  Joseph's  side,  who  immediately  knew 
him  to  be  the  servant  of  a  neighboring  gentleman, 
who  used  to  visit  at  their  house. 

This  fellow  was  likewise  forced  in  by  the  storm; 
for  he  had  orders  to  go  twenty  miles  farther  that 
evening,  and  luckily  on  the  same  road  which  Jo- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  61 

seph  himself  intended  to  take.  He,  therefore,  em- 
braced this  opportunity  of  complimenting  his 
friend  with  his  master's  horse  (notwithstanding 
he  had  received  express  commands  to  the  con- 
trary), which  was  readily  accepted;  and  so,  after 
they  had  drank  a  loving  pot,  and  the  storm  was 
over,  they  set  out  together. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Containing  many  surprising  adventures  which  Joseph  Andrews 
met  with  on  the  road,  scarce  credible  to  those  who  have 
never  traveled  in  a  stage-coach. 

NOTHING  remarkable  happened  on  the 
road  till  their  arrival  at  the  inn  to  which 
the  horses  were  ordered;  whither  they 
came  about  two  in  the  morning.  The  moon  then 
shone  very  bright ;  and  Joseph,  making  his  friend 
a  present  of  a  pint  of  wine,  and  thanking  him  for 
the  favor  of  his  horse,  notwithstanding  all  en- 
treaties to  the  contrary,  proceeded  on  his  journey 
on  foot. 

He  had  not  gone  above  two  miles,  charmed  with 
the  hope  of  shortly  seeing  his  beloved  Fanny, 
when  he  was  met  by  two  fellows  in  a  narrow  lane, 
and  ordered  to  stand  and  deliver.  He  readily 
gave  them  all  the  money  he  had,  which  was  some- 
what less  than  two  pounds;  and  told  them  he 
hoped  they  would  be  so  generous  as  to  return  him 
a  few  shillings,  to  defray  his  charges  on  his  way 
home. 

One  of  the  ruffians  answered  with  an  oath,  '^  Yes, 
we'll  give  you  something  presently:  but  first  strip 
and  be  d — n  'd  to  you. ' ' — * '  Strip, ' '  cried  the  other, 
"or  I'll  blow  your  brains  to  the  devil."  Joseph, 
remembering  that  he  had  borrowed  his  coat  and 
breeches   of   a    friend,    and   that   he    should   be 

52 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  53 

ashamed  of  making  any  excuse  for  not  returning 
them,  replied,  he  hoped  they  would  not  insist  on 
his  clothes,  which  were  not  worth  much,  but  con- 
sider the  coldness  of  the  night.  ''You  are  cold, 
are  you,  you  rascal?"  said  one  of  the  robbers: 
''I'll  warm  you  with  a  vengeance;"  and,  damning 
his  eyes,  snapped  a  pistol  at  his  head;  which  he 
had  no  sooner  done  than  the  other  le\^eled  a  blow 
at  him  with  his  stick,  which  Joseph,  who  was  ex- 
pert at  cudgel-playing,  caught  with  his,  and  re- 
turned the  favor  so  successfully  on  his  adversary, 
that  he  laid  him  sprawling  at  his  feet,  and  at  the 
same  instant  received  a  blow  from  behind,  with 
the  butt  end  of  a  pistol,  from  the  other  villain, 
which  felled  him  to  the  ground,  and  totally  de- 
prived him  of  his  senses. 

The  thief  who  had  been  knocked  down  had  now 
recovered  himself;  and  both  together  fell  to  be- 
laboring poor  Joseph  with  their  sticks,  till  they 
were  convinced  they  had  put  an  end  to  his  miser- 
able being:  they  then  stripped  him  entirely  naked, 
threw  him  into  a  ditch,  and  departed  with  their 
bootj^ 

The  poor  wretch,  who  lay  motionless  a  long 
time,  just  began  to  recover  his  senses  as  a  stage- 
coach came  by.  The  postilion,  hearing  a  man's 
groans,  stopped  his  horses,  and  told  the  coachman 
he  was  certain  there  was  a  dead  man  lying  in  the 
ditch,  for  he  heard  him  groan.  "Go  on, 
sirrah,"  says  the  coachman;  "we  are  confounded 
late,  and  have  no  time  to  look  after  dead  men." 
A  lady,  who  heard  what  the  postilion  said,  and 
likewise  heard  the  groan,  called  eagerly  to  the 


54  THE  HISTORY  OF 

coacliman  to  stop  and  see  what  was  the  matter. 
Upon  which  he  bid  the  postilion  alight,  and  look 
into  the  ditch.  He  did  so,  and  returned,  ''that 
there  was  a  man  sitting  upright,  as  naked  as  ever 
he  was  born." — "0  J — sus!"  cried  the  lady;  "a 
naked  man!  Dear  coachman,  drive  on  and  leave 
him."  Upon  this  the  gentleman  got  out  of  the 
coach;  and  Joseph  begged  them  to  have  mercy 
upon  him :  for  that  he  had  been  robbed  and  almost 
beaten  to  death.  "Robbed!"  cries  an  old  gentle- 
man: ''let  us  make  all  the  haste  imaginable,  or 
we  shall  be  robbed  too."  A  young  man  who  be- 
longed to  the  law  answered,  "He  wished  they  had 
passed  by  without  taking  any  notice;  but  that  now 
they  might  be  proved  to  have  been  last  in  his  com- 
pany; if  he  should  die  they  might  be  called  to 
some  account  for  his  murder.  He  therefore 
thought  it  advisable  to  save  the  jooor  creature's 
life,  for  their  own  sakes,  if  possible;  at  least,  if  he 
died,  to  pre\^ent  the  jury's  finding  that  they  fled 
for  it.  He  was  therefore  of  opinion  to  take  the 
man  into  the  coach,  and  carry  him  to  the  next 
inn."  The  lady  insisted,  "That  he  should  not 
come  into  the  coach.  That  if  they  lifted  him  in, 
she  would  herself  alight:  for  she  had  rather  stay 
in  that  place  to  all  eternity  than  ride  with  a  naked 
man."  The  coachman  objected,  "That  he  could 
not  suffer  him  to  be  taken  in  unless  somebody 
would  pay  a  shilling  for  his  carriage  the  four 
miles."  Which  the  two  gentlemen  refused  to  do. 
But  the  lawyer,  who  was  afraid  of  some  mischief 
happening  to  himself,  if  the  wretch  was  left  be- 
hind in  that  condition,  saying  no  man  could  be  too 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  55 

cautious  in  these  matters,  and  that  he  remembered 
very  extraordinary  cases  in  the  books,  threatened 
the  coachman,  and  bid  him  deny  taking  him  up  at 
his  peril ;  for  that,  if  he  died,  he  should  be  indicted 
for  his  murder;  and  if  he  lived,  and  brought 
an  action  against  him,  he  would  willingly  take  a 
brief  in  it.  These  words  had  a  sensible  effect  on 
the  coachman,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
person  who  spoke  them;  and  the  old  gentleman 
above  mentioned,  thinking  the  naked  man  would 
afford  him  frequent  opportunities  of  showing  his 
wit  to  the  lady,  offered  to  join  with  the  company 
in  giving  a  mug  of  beer  for  his  fare ;  till,  partly 
alarmed  by  the  threats  of  the  one,  and  partly  by; 
the  promises  of  the  other,  and  being  perhaps  a 
little  moved  with  compassion  at  the  poor  crea- 
ture's condition,  who  stood  bleeding  and  shivering 
with  the  cold,  he  at  length  agreed ;  and  Joseph  was 
now  advancing  to  the  coach,  where,  seeing  the 
lady,  who  held  the  sticks  of  her  fan  before  her 
eyes,  he  absolutely  refused,  miserable  as  he  was, 
to  enter,  unless  he  was  furnished  with  sufficient 
covering  to  prevent  giving  the  least  offense  to  de- 
cency— so  perfectly  modest  was  this  young  man; 
such  mighty  effects  had  the  spotless  example  of 
the  amiable  Pamela,  and  the  excellent  sermons  of 
Mr.  Adams,  wrought  upon  him. 

Though  there  were  several  greatcoats  about  the 
coach,  it  was  not  easy  to  get  over  this  difficulty 
which  Joseph  had  started.  The  two  gentlemen 
complained  they  were  cold,  and  could  not  spare  a 
rag;  the  man  of  wit  saying,  with  a  laugh,  that 
charity  began  at  home;  and  the  coachman,  who 


56  THE  HISTORY  OF 

had  two  greatcoats  spread  iiDder  him,  refused  to 
lend  either,  lest  the\^  should  be  made  bloody:  the 
lady's  footman  desired  to  be  excused  for  the  same 
reason,  which  the  lady  herself,  notwithstanding 
her  abhorrence  of  a  naked  man,  approved:  and  it 
is  more  than  probable  poor  Joseph,  who  obsti- 
nately adhered  to  his  modest  resolution,  must 
have  perished  unless  the  postilion  (a  lad  who 
hath  been  since  transported  for  robbing  a  hen- 
roost) had  voluntarily  stripped  off  a  greatcoat, 
his  only  garment,  at  the  same  time  swearing  a 
great  oath  (for  which  he  was  rebuked  by  the  pas- 
sengers), ''that  he  would  rather  ride  in  his  shirt 
all  his  life  than  suffer  a  fellow-creature  to  lie  in 
so  miserable  a  condition." 

Joseph,  having  put  on  the  greatcoat,  was  lifted 
into  the  coach,  which  now  proceeded  on  its  jour- 
ney. He  declared  himself  almost  dead  with  the 
cold,  which  gave  the  man  of  wit  an  occasion  to  ask 
the  lady  if  she  could  not  accommodate  him  with  a 
dram.  She  answered,  with  some  resentment, 
''She  wondered  at  his  asking  her  such  a  question; 
but  assured  him  she  never  tasted  any  such  thing." 

The  lawyer  was  inquiring  into  the  circumstances 
of  the  robbery,  when  the  coach  stopped,  and  one 
of  the  ruffians,  putting  a  pistol  in,  demanded  their 
money  of  the  passengers,  who  readily  gave  it 
them;  and  the  lady,  in  her  fright,  delivered  up  a 
little  silver  bottle,  of  about  a  half-pint  size,  which 
the  rogue,  clapping  it  to  his  mouth,  and  drinking 
lier  health,  declared,  held  some  of  the  best  Nantes 
he  had  ever  tasted:  this  the  lady  afterwards  as- 
sured the  company  was  the  mistake  of  her  maid, 


JOSEPH  ANDREAYS  57 

for  that  she  had  ordered  her  to  fill  the  bottle  with 
Himgary-water. 

As  soon  as  the  fellows  were  departed,  the  law- 
yer, who  had^  it  seems,  a  case  of  pistols  in  the 
seat  of  the  coach,  informed  the  company,  that  if 
it  had  been  daylight,  and  he  could  have  come  at 
his  pistols,  he  would  not  have  submitted  to  the 
robbery:  he  likewise  set  forth  that  he  had  often 
met  highwaymen  when  he  traveled  on  horseback, 
but  none  erver  durst  attack  him;  concluding  that, 
if  he  had  not  been  more  afraid  for  the  lady  than 
for  himself,  he  should  not  have  now  parted  with 
his  money  so  easil3\ 

xVs  wit  is  generally  observed  to  love  to  reside  in 
empty  pockets,  so  the  gentleman  whose  ingenuity 
we  have  above  remarked,  as  soon  as  he  had 
parted  with  his  money,  began  to  grow  wonderfully 
facetious.  He  made  frequent  allusions  to  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  said  many  excellent  things  on  figs 
and  fig-leaves ;  which  perhaps  gave  more  offense 
to  Joseph  than  to  any  other  in  the  company. 

The  lawyer  likewise  made  several  very  pretty 
jests  without  departing  from  his  profession.  He 
said,  "If  Joseph  and  the  lady  were  alone,  he  would 
be  more  capable  of  making  a  conveyance  to  her, 
as  his  affairs  were  not  fettered  with  any  incum- 
brance ;  he  'd  warrant  he  soon  suffered  a  recovery 
by  a  writ  of  entry,  which  was  the  proper  way  to 
create  heirs  in  tail ;  that,  for  his  own  part,  he  would 
engage  to  make  so  firm  a  settlement  in  a  coach, 
that  there  should  be  no  danger  of  an  ejectment," 
with  an  inundation  of  the  like  gibberish,  which  he 
continued  to  vent  till  the  coach  arrived  at  an  inn, 


58  THE  HISTORY  OF 

where  one  servant-maid  only  was  up,  in  readiness 
to  attend  the  coachman,  and  furnish  him  with  cold 
meat  and  a  dram.  Joseph  desired  to  alight,  and 
that  he  might  have  a  bed  prepared  for  him,  which 
the  maid  readily  promised  to  perform;  and,  being 
a  good-natured  wench,  and  not  so  squeamish  as 
the  lady  had  been,  she  clapped  a  large  fagot  on  the 
fire,  and,  furnishing  Joseph  with  a  greatcoat  be- 
longing to  one  of  the  hostlers,  desired  him  to  sit 
down  and  warm  himself  whilst  she  made  his  bed. 
The  coachman,  in  the  meantime,  took  an  oppor- 
tunity to  call  up  a  surgeon,  who  lived  within  a  few 
doors;  after  which,  he  reminded  his  passengers 
how  late  they  were,  and,  after  they  had  taken 
leave  of  Joseph,  hurried  them  off  as  fast  as  he 
could. 

The  wench  soon  got  Joseph  to  bed,  and  prom- 
ised to  use  her  interest  to  borrow  him  a  shirt ;  but 
imagining,  as  she  afterwards  said,  by  his  being 
so  bloody,  that  he  must  be  a  dead  man,  she  ran 
with  all  speed  to  hasten  the  surgeon,  who  was 
more  than  half  dressed,  apprehending  that  the 
coach  had  been  overturned,  and  some  gentleman 
or  lady  hurt.  As  soon  as  the  wench  had  informed 
him  at  his  window  that  it  was  a  poor  foot-passen- 
ger who  had  been  stripped  of  all  he  had,  and  al- 
most murdered,  he  chid  her  for  disturbing  him  so 
early,  slipped  off  his  clothes  again,  and  very 
quietly  returned  to  bed  and  to  sleep. 

Aurora  now  began  to  show  her  blooming  cheeks 
over  the  hills,  whilst  ten  millions  of  feathered 
songsters,  in  jocund  chorus,  repeated  odes  a  thou- 
sand times  sweeter  than  those  of  our  laureat,  and 
sung  both  the  day  and  the  song ;  when  the  master 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  59 

of  the  inn,  Mr.  Tow-wouse,  arose,  and  learning 
from  bis  maid  an  account  of  the  robbery,  and  the 
situation  of  his  poor  naked  guest,  he  shook  his 
head,  and  cried,  ''good-lack-a-day !"  and  then  or- 
dered the  girl  to  carry  him  one  of  his  own  shirts. 
Mrs.  Tow-wouse  was  just  awake,  and  had 
stretched  out  her  arms  in  vain  to  fold  her  departed 
husband,  when  the  maid  entered  the  room. 
''Who's  there?  Betty?"— ''Yes,  madam."— 
"Where's  your  master?" — "He's  without, 
madam ;  he  hath  sent  me  for  a  shirt  to  lend  a  poor 
naked  man,  who  hath  been  robbed  and  murdered." 
— "Touch  one  if  you  dare,  you  slut,"  said  Mrs. 
Tow-wouse:  "your  master  is  a  pretty  sort  of  a 
man,  to  take  in  naked  vagabonds,  and  clothe  them 
with  his  own  clothes.  I  shall  have  no  such  doings. 
If  you  offer  to  touch  anything,  I  '11  throw  the  cham- 
ber-pot at  your  head.  Go,  send  your  master  to 
me." — "Yes,  madam,"  answered  Betty.  As  soon 
as  he  came  in,  she  thus  began:  "What  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  this,  Mr.  Tow-wouse?  Am  I  to 
buy  shirts  to  lend  to  a  set  of  scabby  rascals?" — 
"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Tow-wouse,  "this  is  a  poor 
wretch." — "Yes,"  says  she,  "I  know  it  is  a  poor 
wretch ;  but  what  the  dervil  have  we  to  do  with  poor 
wretches?  The  law  makes  us  provide  for  too 
many  already.  We  shall  have  thirty  or  forty  poor 
wretches  in  red  coats  shortly. ' ' — ' '  My  dear, ' '  cries 
Tow-wouse,  "this  man  hath  been  robbed  of  all  he 
hath." — "Well  then,"  said  she,  " where 's  his 
money  to  pay  his  reckoning?  Why  doth  not  such 
a  fellow  go  to  an  alehouse  ?  I  shall  send  him 
packing  as  soon  as  I  am  up,  I  assure  you." — 
"My  dear,"  said  he,  "common  charity  won't  suf- 


60  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

fer  you  to  do  that." — "Common  charity,  a  f — t!" 
says  she,  ''common  charity  teaches  us  to  provide 
for  ourselves  and  our  families ;  and  I  and  mine 
won't  be  ruined  by  your  charity,  I  assure  you." 
— ''Well,"  says  he,  "my  dear,  do  as  you  will, 
when  you  are  up;  you  know  I  never  contradict 
you." — "No,"  says  she;  "if  the  devil  was  to  con- 
tradict me,  I  would  make  the  house  too  hot  to  hold 
him." 

With  such  like  discourses  they  consumed  near 
half-an-hour,  whilst  Betty  provided  a  shirt  from 
the  hostler,  who  was  one  of  her  sweethearts,  and 
put  it  on  poor  Joseph.  The  surgeon  had  likewise 
at  last  visited  him,  and  washed  and  dressed  his 
wounds,  and  was  now  come  to  acquaint  Mr.  Tow- 
wouse  that  his  guest  was  in  such  extreme  danger  of 
his  life,  that  he  scarce  saw  any  hopes  of  his  re- 
covery. "Here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,"  cries 
Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  "you  have  brought  upon  us! 
We  are  like  to  have  a  funeral  at  our  own  expense." 
Tow-wouse  (who,  notwithstanding  his  charity, 
would  have  given  his  vote  as  freely  as  ever  he  did 
at  an  election,  that  any  other  house  in  the  king- 
dom should  have  quiet  possession  of  his  guest) 
answered,  "My  dear,  I  am  not  to  blame;  he  was 
brought  hither  by  the  stage-coach,  and  Betty  had 
put  him  to  bed  before  I  was  stirring." — "I'll 
Betty  hei*,"  says  she. — At  which,  with  half  her 
garments  on,  the  other  half  under  her  arm,  she 
sallied  out  in  quest  of  the  unfortunate  Betty, 
whilst  Tow-wouse  and  the  surgeon  went  to  pay  a 
visit  to  poor  Joseph,  and  inquire  into  the  circum- 
stances of  this  melancholv  affair. 


CHAPTEE  Xm 

What  happened  to  Joseph  during  his  sickness  at  the  inn,  with 
the  curious  discourse  between  him  and  Mr.  Barnabas,  the 
parson  of  the  parish. 

AS  soon  as  Joseph  had  communicated  a  par- 
ticular history  of  the  robbery,  together 
with  a  short  account  of  himself,  and  his 
intended  journey,  he  asked  the  surgeon  if  he  ap- 
prehended him  to  be  in  any  danger :  to  which  the 
surgeon  very  honestly  answered,  ''He  feared  he 
was ;  for  that  his  pulse  was  very  exalted  and  fever- 
ish, and,  if  his  fever  should  prove  more  than  symp- 
tomatic, it  would  be  impossible  to  save  him." 
Joseph,  fetching  a  deep  sigh,  cried,  "Poor  Fanny, 
I  would  I  could  have  lived  to  see  thee!  but  God's 
will  be  done." 

The  surgeon  then  advised  him,  if  he  had  any 
worldly  affairs  to  settle,  that  he  would  do  it  as 
soon  as  possible;  for,  though  he  hoped  he  might 
recover,  yet  he  thought  himself  obliged  to  acquaint 
him  he  was  in  great  danger;  and  if  the  malign 
concoction  of  his  humors  should  cause  a  suscita- 
tion  of  his  fever,  he  might  soon  grow  delirious  and 
incapable  to  make  his  will.  Joseph  answered, 
"That  it  was  impossible  for  any  creature  in  the 
universe  to  be  in  a  poorer  condition  than  himself; 
for  since  the  robbery  he  had  not  one  thing  of  any 
kind  whatever  which  he  could  call  his  own."  "I 
had,"  said  he,  "a  poor  little  piece  of  gold,  which 

61 


'6^  THE  HISTORY  OF 

they  took  away,  that  would  have  been  a  comfort 
to  me  in  all  my  afflictions;  but  surely,  Fanny,  I 
want  nothing  to  remind  me  of  thee.  I  have  thy 
dear  image  in  my  heart,  and  no  villain  can  ever 
tear  it  thence." 

Joseph  desired  paper  and  pens,  to  write  a  let- 
ter, but  they  were  refused  him;  and  he  was  ad- 
vised to  use  all  his  endeavors  to  compose  himself. 
They  then  left  him ;  and  Mr.  Tow-wouse  sent  to  a 
clergyman  to  come  and  administer  his  good  offices 
to  the  soul  of  poor  Joseph,  since  the  surgeon  de- 
spaired of  making  any  successful  applications  to 
his  body. 

Mr.  Barnabas  (for  that  was  the  clergyman's 
name)  came  as  soon  as  sent  for;  and,  having  first 
drank  a  dish  of  tea  with  the  landlady,  and  after- 
wards a  bowl  of  punch  with  the  landlord,  he  walked 
up  to  the  room  where  Joseph  lay ;  but,  finding  him 
asleep,  returned  to  take  the  other  sneaker;  which' 
when  he  had  finished,  he  again  crept  softly  up  to 
the  chamber-door,  and,  having  opened  it,  heard 
the  sick  man  talking  to  himself  in  the  following 
manner: — 

''0  most  adorable  Pamela!  most  virtuous  sis- 
ter !  whose  example  could  alone  enable  me  to  with- 
stand all  the  temptations  of  riches  and  beauty, 
and  to  preserve  my  virtue  pure  and  chaste  for  the 
arms  of  my  dear  Fanny,  if  it  had  pleased  Heaven 
that  I  should  ever  have  come  unto  them.  What 
riches,  or  honors,  or  pleasures,  can  make  us 
amends  for  the  loss  of  innocence?  Doth  not  that 
alone  afford  us  more  consolation  than  all  worldly 
acquisitions?    What    but    innocence    and    virtue 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  63 

could  give  any  comfort  to  such  a  miserable  wretch 
as  I  am?  Yet  these  can  make  me  prefer  this  sick 
and  painful  bed  to  all  the  pleasures  I  should  have 
found  in  my  lady's.  These  can  make  me  face 
death  without  fear;  and  though  I  love  my  Fanny 
more  than  ever  man  loved  a  woman,  these  can 
teach  me  to  resign  myself  to  the  Divine  will  with- 
out repining.  0  thou  delightful  charming  crea- 
ture !  if  Heaven  had  indulged  thee  to  my  arms,  the 
poorest,  humblest  state  would  have  been  a  para- 
dise ;  I  could  have  lived  with  thee  in  the  lowest  cot- 
tage without  envying  the  palaces,  the  dainties,  or 
the  riches  of  any  man  breathing.  But  I  must  leave 
thee,  leave  thee  for  ever,  my  dearest  angel !  I  must 
think  of  another  world;  and  I  heartily  pray  thou 
may'st  meet  comfort  in  this." — Barnabas  thought 
he  had  heard  enough,  so  downstairs  he  went,  and 
told  Tow-wouse  he  could  do  his  guest  no  service ; 
for  that  he  was  very  light-headed,  and  had  uttered 
nothing  but  a  rhapsody  of  nonsense  all  the  time 
he  stayed  in  the  room. 

The  surgeon  returned  in  the  afternoon,  and 
found  his  patient  in  a  higher  fever,  as  he  said, 
than  when  he  left  him,  though  not  delirious;  for, 
notwithstanding  Mr.  Barnabas 's  opinion,  he  had 
not  been  once  out  of  his  senses  since  his  arrival  at 
the  inn. 

Mr.  Barnabas  was  again  sent  for,  and  with  much 
difficulty  prevailed  on  to  make  another  visit.  As 
soon  as  he  entered  the  room  he  told  Joseph  "He 
was  come  to  pray  by  him,  and  to  prepare  him  for 
another  world:  in  the  first  place,  therefore,  he 
hoped  he  had  repented  of  all  his  sins."    Joseph- 


64  THE  HISTORY  OF 

answered,  "He  hoped  be  had;  but  there  was  one 
thing  which  he  knew  not  whether  he  should  call  a 
sin ;  if  it  was,  he  feared  he  should  die  in  the  com- 
mission of  it ;  and  that  was,  the  regret  of  parting 
with  a  young  woman  whom  he  loved  as  tenderly 
as  he  did  his  heart-strings."  Barnabas  bade  him 
be  assured  ''that  any  repining  at  the  Divine  will 
was  one  of  the  greatest  sins  he  could  commit ;  that 
he  ought  to  forget  all  carnal  affections,  and  think 
of  better  things. ' '  Joseph  said,  ' '  That  neither  in 
this  world  nor  the  next  he  could  forget  his  Fanny ; 
and  that  the  thought,  however  grievous,  of  part- 
ing from  her  for  ever,  was  not  half  so  tormenting 
as  the  fear  of  what  she  would  suffer  when  she 
knew  his  misfortune."  Barnabas  said,  "That 
such  fears  argued  a  diffidence  and  despondence 
very  criminal;  that  he  must  divest  himself  of  all 
human  passions,  and  fix  his  heart  above. ' '  Joseph 
answered,  "That  was  what  he  desired  to  do,  and 
should  be  obliged  to  him  if  he  would  enable  him  to 
accomplish  it."  Barnabas  replied,  "That  must 
be  done  by  grace."  Joseph  besought  him  to  dis- 
cover how  he  might  attain  it.  Barnabas  an- 
swered, "By  prayer  and  faith."  He  then  ques- 
tioned him  concerning  his  forgiveness  of  the 
thieves.  Joseph  answered,  "He  feared  that  was 
more  than  he  could  do ;  for  nothing  would  give  him 
more  pleasure  than  to  hear  they  were  taken." — 
"That,"  cries  Barnabas,  "is  for  the  sake  of 
justice." — "Yes,"  said  Joseph,  "but  if  I  was  to 
meet  them  again,  I  am  afraid  I  should  attack  them, 
and  kill  them  too,  if  I  could." — "Doubtless,"  an- 
swered Barnabas,  "it  is  lawful  to  kill  a  thief;  but 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  65 

can  you  say  you  forgive  them  as  a  Christian 
ought?"  Joseph  desired  to  know  what  that  for- 
giveness was.  ''That  is,"  answered  Barnabas, 
''to  forgive  them  as — as — it  is  to  forgive  them  as 
— in  short,  it  is  to  forgive  them  as  a  Christian." — 
Joseph  replied,  "He  forgave  them  as  much  as  he 
could." — "Well,  well,"  said  Barnabas,  "that  will 
do."  He  then  demanded  of  him,  "If  he  remem- 
bered any  more  sins  unrepented  of;  and  if  he  did, 
he  desired  him  to  make  haste  and  repent  of  them 
as  fast  as  he  could,  that  they  might  repeat  over  a 
few  prayers  together."  Joseph  answered,  "He 
could  not  recollect  any  great  crimes  he  had  been 
guilty  of,  and  that  those  he  had  committed  he  was 
sincerely  sorry  for."  Barnabas  said  that  was 
enough,  and  then  jDroceeded  to  prayer  with  all  the 
expedition  he  was  master  of,  some  company  then 
waiting  for  him  below  in  the  parlor,  where  the  in- 
gredients for  punch  were  all  in  readiness;  but  no 
one  would  squeeze  the  oranges  till  he  came. 

Joseph  complained  he  was  dry,  and  desired  a  lit- 
tle tea;  which  Barnabas  reported  to  Mrs.  Tow- 
wouse,  who  answered,  "She  had  just  done  drink- 
ing it,  and  could  not  be  slopping  all  day;"  but  or- 
dered Betty  to  carry  him  up  some  small  beer. 

Betty  obeyed  her  mistress's  commands;  but 
Joseph,  as  soon  as  he  had  tasted  it,  said,  he  feared 
it  would  increase  his  fever,  and  that  he  longed 
very  much  for  tea ;  to  which  the  good-natured 
Betty  answered,  he  should  have  tea,  if  there  was 
any  in  the  land ;  she  accordingly  went  and  bought 
him  some  herself,  and  attended  him  with  it ;  where 
we  will  leave  her  and  Joseph  together  for  some 
time,  to  entertain  the  reader  with  other  matters. 

1—5 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Being  very  full  of  adventures  which  succeeded  each  other  at 

the  inn. 

IT  was  now  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  when  a 
grave  person  rode  into  the  inn,  and,  commit- 
ting his  horse  to  the  hostler,  went  directly  into 
the  kitchen,  and,  having  called  for  a  pipe  of  to- 
bacco, took  his  place  by  the  fireside,  where  several 
other  persons  were  likewise  assembled. 

The  discourse  ran  altogether  on  the  robbery 
which  was  committed  the  night  before,  and  on  the 
poor  wretch  who  lay  above  in  the  dreadful  con- 
dition in  which  we  have  already  seen  him.  Mrs. 
Tow-wouse  said,  **She  wondered  what  the  devil 
Tom  Whipwell  meant  by  bringing  such  guests  to 
her  house,  when  there  were  so  many  alehouses  on 
the  road  proper  for  their  reception.  But  she  as- 
sured him,  if  he  died,  the  parish  should  be  at  the 
expense  of  the  funeral."  She  added,  "Nothing 
would  serve  the  fellow's  turn  but  tea,  she  would 
assure  him."  Betty,  who  was  just  returned  from 
her  charitable  office,  answered,  she  believed  he  was 
a  gentleman,  for  she  never  saw  a  finer  skin  in  her 
life.  '*Pox  on  his  skin !"  replied  Mrs.  Tow-wouse, 
"I  suppose  that  is  all  we  are  like  to  have  for  the 
reckoning.  I  desire  no  such  gentlemen  should 
ever  call  at  the  Dragon"  (which  it  seems  was  the 
sign  of  the  inn). 

66 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  67 

The  gentleman  lately  arrived  discovered  a  great 
deal  of  emotion  at  the  distress  of  this  poor  crea- 
ture, whom  he  observed  to  be  fallen  not  into  the 
most  compassionate  hands.  And  indeed,  if  Mrs. 
Tow-wouse  had  given  no  utterance  to  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  temper,  nature  had  taken  such  pains 
in  her  countenance,  that  Hogarth  himself  never 
gave  more  expression  to  a  picture. 

Her  person  was  short,  thin,  and  crooked.  Her 
forehead  projected  in  the  middle,  and  thence  de- 
scended in  a  declivity  to  the  top  of  her  nose,  which 
was  sharp  and  red,  and  would  have  hung  over  her 
lips,  had  not  nature  turned  up  the  end  of  it.  Her 
lips  were  two  bits  of  skin,  which,  whenever  she 
spoke,  she  drew  together  in  a  purse.  Her  chin 
was  peaked;  and  at  the  upper  end  of  that  skin 
which  composed  her  cheeks,  stood  two  bones,  that 
almost  hid  a  pair  of  small  red  eyes.  Add  to  this  a 
voice  most  wonderfully  adapted  to  the  sentiments 
it  was  to  convey,  being  both  loud  and  hoarse. 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  whether  the  gentleman  had 
conceived  a  greater  dislike  for  his  landlady  or 
compassion  for  her  unhappy  guest.  He  inquired 
very  earnestly  of  the  surgeon,  who  was  now  come 
into  the  kitchen,  whether  he  had  any  hopes  of  his 
recovery?  He  begged  him  to  use  all  possible 
means  towards  it,  telling  him,  ''it  was  the  duty  of 
men  of  all  professions  to  apply  their  skill  gratis 
for  the  relief  of  the  poor  and  necessitous."  The 
surgeon  answered,  ''He  should  take  proper  care; 
but  he  defied  all  the  surgeons  in  London  to  do  him 
any  good." — "Pray,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman, 
"what  are  his  wounds?" — "Why,  do  you  know 


68  THE  HISTORY  OF 

anything  of  wounds?"  says  the  surgeon  (winking 
upon  Mrs.  Tow-wouse). — *'Sir,  I  have  a  small 
smattering  in  surgery,"  answered  the  gentleman. 
— "A  smattering — ^ho,  ho,  ho!"  said  the  surgeon; 
''I  believe  it  is  a  smattering  indeed." 

The  company  were  all  attentive,  expecting  to 
hear  the  doctor,  who  was  what  they  call  a  dry  fel- 
low, expose  the  gentleman. 

He  began  therefore  with  an  air  of  triumph:  "I 
suppose,  sir,  you  have  traveled?" — ''No,  really, 
sir,"  said  the  gentleman. — "Ho!  then  you  have 
practiced  in  the  hospitals  perhaps?" — *'No,  sir.'* 
— ''Hum!  not  that  neither?  Whence,  sir,  then,  if 
I  may  be  so  bold  to  inquire,  have  you  got  your 
knowledge  in  surgery?" — "Sir,"  answered  the 
gentleman,  "I  do  not  pretend  to  much;  but  the 
little  I  know  I  have  from  books. ' ' — ' '  Books ! ' '  cries 
the  doctor.  "What,  I  suppose  you  have  read 
Galen  and  Hippocrates!" — "No,  sir,"  said  the 
gentleman. — "How!  you  understand  surgery," 
answers  the  doctor,  "and  not  read  Galen  and 
Hippocrates?" — "Sir,"  cries  the  other,  "I  be- 
lieve there  are  many  surgeons  who  have  never 
read  these  authors." — "I  believe  so  too,"  says  the 
doctor,  "more  shame  for  them;  but,  thanks  to  my 
education,  I  have  them  by  heart,  and  very  seldom 
go  without  them  both  in  my  pocket. ' ' — ' '  They  are 
pretty  large  books, ' '  said  the  gentleman. — ' '  Aye, ' ' 
said  the  doctor,  "I  believe  I  know  how  large  they 
are  better  than  you."  (At  which  he  fell  a  wink- 
ing, and  the  whole  company  burst  into  a  laugh.) 

The  doctor  pursuing  his  triumph,  asked  the  gen- 
tleman, "If  he  did  not  understand  physic  as  well 


JOSEPPI  ANDREWS  69 

as  surgery."  ''Rather  better,"  answered  the 
gentleman. — ''Aye,  like  enough,"  cries  the  doc- 
tor, with  a  wink.  "Why,  I  know  a  little  of  physic 
too." — "I  wish  I  knew  half  so  much,"  said  Tow- 
wouse,  "  I  'd  never  wear  an  apron  again. ' ' — ' '  Why, 
I  believe,  landlord,"  cries  the  doctor,  "there  are 
few  men,  though  I  say  it,  within  twelve  miles  of 
the  place,  that  handle  a  fever  better.  Veniente 
accurrite  morho:  that  is  my  method.  I  suppose, 
brother,  you  understand  Latin f" — "A  little," 
says  the  gentleman. — "Aye,  and  Greek  now,  I'll 
warrant  you:  Ton  dapomibominos  poluflosboio 
Thalasses.  But  I  have  almost  forgot  these 
things:  I  could  have   repeated  Homer  by  heart 

once. ' ' ' '  If ags !  the  gentleman  has  caught  a 

traitor,"  says  Mrs.  Tow-wouse;  at  which  they  all 
fell  a  laughing. 

The  gemtleman,  who  had  not  the  least  affection 
for  joking,  very  contentedly  suffered  the  doctor 
to  enjoy  his  victory,  which  he  did  with  no  small 
satisfaction;  and,  having  sufficiently  sounded  his 
depth,  told  him,  "He  was  thoroughly  convinced  of 
his  great  learning  and  abilities ;  and  that  he  would 
be  obliged  to  him  if  he  would  let  him  know  his 
opinion  of  his  patient's  case  above-stairs." — 
"Sir,"  says  the  doctor,  "his  case  is  that  of  a  dead 
man — the  contusion  on  his  head  has  perforated 
the  internal  membrane  of  the  occiput,  and  diveii- 
cated  that  radical  small  minute  invisible  nerve 
which  coheres  to  the  pericranium ;  and  this  was 
attended  with  a  fever  at  first  symptomatic,  then 
pneumatic;  and  he  is  at  length  grown  deliriuus, 
or  delirious,  as  the  vulgar  express  it." 


70  THE  HISTORY  OF 

He  was  proceeding  in  this  learned  manner, 
when  a  mighty  noise  interrupted  him.  Some 
young  fellows  in  the  neighborhood  had  taken  one 
of  the  thieves,  and  were  bringing  him  into  the  inn. 
Betty  ran  upstairs  with  this  news  to  Joseph,  who 
begged  they  might  search  for  a  little  piece  of 
broken  gold,  which  had  a  ribbon  tied  to  it,  and 
which  he  could  swear  to  amongst  all  the  hoards  of 
the  richest  men  in  the  universe. 

Notwithstanding  the  fellow's  persisting  in  his 
innocence,  the  mob  were  very  busy  in  searching 
him,  and  presently,  among  other  things,  pulled 
out  the  piece  of  gold  just  mentioned;  which  Betty 
no  sooner  saw  than  she  laid  violent  hands  on  it, 
and  conveyed  it  up  to  Jose^oh,  who  received  it  with 
raptures  of  joy,  and,  hugging  it  in  his  bosom,  de- 
clared he  could  now  die  contented. 

Within  a  few  minutes  afterwards  came  in  some 
other  fellows,  with  a  bundle  which  they  had  found 
in  a  ditch,  and  which  was  indeed  the  clothes  which 
had  been  stripped  off  from  Joseph,  and  the  other 
things  they  had  taken  from  him. 

The  gentleman  no  sooner  saw  the  coat  than  he 
declared  he  knew  the  livery;  and,  if  it  had  been 
taken  from  the  poor  creature  above-stairs,  de- 
sired he  might  see  him ;  for  that  he  was  very  well 
acquainted  with  the  family  to  whom  that  livery  be- 
longed. 

He  was  accordingly  conducted  up  by  Betty; 
but  what,  reader,  was  the  surprise  on  both  sides, 
when  he  saw  Joseph  was  the  person  in  bed,  and 
when  Joseph  discovered  the  face  of  his  good 
friend  Mr.  Abraham  Adams! 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  71 

It  would  be  impertinent  to  insert  a  discourse 
which  chiefly  turned  on  the  relation  of  matters  al- 
ready well  known  to  the  reader;  for,  as  soon  as 
the  curate  had  satisfied  Joseph  concerning  the 
perfect  health  of  his  Fanny,  he  was  on  his  side 
very  inquisitive  into  all  the  particulars  which  had 
produced  this  unfortunate  accident. 

To  return  therefore  to  the  kitchen,  where  a 
great  variety  of  company  were  now  assembled 
from  all  the  rooms  of  the  house,  as  well  as  the 
neighborhood:  so  much  delight  do  men  take  in 
contemplating  the  countenance  of  a  thief. 

Mr.  Tow-wouse  began  to  rub  his  hands  with 
pleasure  at  seeing  so  large  an  assembly;  who 
would,  he  hoped,  shortly  adjourn  into  several 
apartments,  in  order  to  discourse  over  the  rob- 
bery, and  drink  a  health  to  all  honest  men.  But 
Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  whose  misfortune  it  was  com- 
monly to  see  things  a  little  perversely,  began  to 
rail  at  those  who  brought  the  fellow  into  her 
house;  telling  her  husband,  ''They  were  very 
likely  to  thrive  who  kept  a  house  of  entertainment 
for  beggars  and  thieves." 

The  mob  had  now  finished  their  search,  and 
could  find  nothing  about  the  captive  likely  to  prove 
any  evidence;  for  as  to  the  clothes,  though  the 
mob  were  very  well  satisfied  with  that  proof,  yet, 
as  the  surgeon  observed,  they  could  not  convict 
him,  because  they  were  not  found  in  his  custody; 
to  which  Barnabas  agreed,  and  added  that  these 
were  bona  waviata,  and  belonged  to  the  lord  of  the 


manor. 


How,"  says  the  surgeon,  "do  you  say  these 


72  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

goods  belong  to  the  lord  of  the  manor?" — ''I  do," 
cried  Barnabas. — ''Then  I  deny  it,"  says  the  sur- 
geon: "what  can  the  lord  of  the  manor  have  to  do 
in  the  case?  Will  any  one  attempt  to  persuade 
me  that  what  a  man  finds  is  not  his  own?" — "I 
have  heard,"  says  an  old  fellow  in  the  corner, 
' 'justice  Wise-one  say,  that,  if  every  man  had  his 
right,  whatever  is  found  belongs  to  the  king  of 
London." — "That  may  be  true,"  says  Barnabas, 
"in  some  sense;  for  the  law  makes  a  difference 
bertween  things  stolen  and  things  found;  for  a 
thing  may  be  stolen  that  never  is  found,  and  a 
thing  may  be  found  that  never  was  stolen:  Now, 
goods  that  are  both  stolen  and  found  are  ivaviata; 
and  they  belong  to  the  lord  of  the  manor." — "So 
the  lord  of  the  manor  is  the  receiver  of  stolen 
goods,"  says  the  doctor;  at  which  there  was  an 
universal  laugh,  being  first  begun  by  himself. 

While  the  prisoner,  by  persisting  in  his  inno- 
cence, had  almost  (as  there  was  no  ervidence 
against  him)  brought  over  Barnabas,  the  surgeon, 
Tow-wouse,  and  several  others  to  his  side,  Betty 
informed  them  that  they  had  overlooked  a  little 
piece  of  gold,  which  she  had  carried  up  to  the  man 
in  bed,  and  which  he  offered  to  swear  to  amongst 
a  million,  aye,  amongst  ten  thousand.  This  im- 
mediately turned  the  scale  against  the  prisoner, 
and  every  one  now  concluded  him  guilty.  It  was 
resolved,  therefore,  to  keep  him  secured  that  night, 
and  early  in  the  morning  to  carry  him  before  a 
justice. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Showing  how  Mrs.  Tow-wouse  was  a  little  mollified;  and  how 
officious  Mr.  Barnabas  and  the  surgeon  were  to  prosecute 
the  thief:  with  a  dissertation  accounting  for  their  zeal, 
and  that  of  many  other  pei-sons  not  mentioned  in  this 
history. 

BETTY  told  her  mistress  she  believed  the 
man  in  bed  was  a  greater  man  than  they 
took  him  for;  for,  besides  the  extreme 
whiteness  of  his  skin,  and  the  softness  of  his 
hands,  she  observed  a  very  great  familiarity  be- 
tween the  gentleman  and  him ;  and  added,  she  was 
certain  thej^  were  intimate  acquaintance,  if  not  re- 
lations. 

This  somewhat  abated  the  severity  of  Mrs.  Tow- 
wouse 's  countenance.  She  said,  "God  forbid  she 
should  not  discharge  the  duty  of  a  Christian,  since 
the  poor  gentleman  was  brought  to  her  house. 
She  had  a  natural  antipathy  to  vagabonds;  but 
could  pity  the  misfortunes  of  a  Christian  as  soon 
as  another."  Tow-wouse  said,  ''If  the  traveler 
be  a  gentleman,  though  he  hath  no  money  about 
him  now,  we  shall  most  likely  be  paid  hereafter; 
so  you  may  begin  to  score  whenever  you  will." 
Mrs.  Tow-wouse  answered,  "Hold  your  simple 
tongue,  and  don't  instruct  me  in  my  business.  I 
am  sure  I  am  sorry  for  the  gentleman's  misfor- 
tune with  all  my  heart ;  and  I  hope  the  villain  who 
hath  used  him   so  barbarously  will  be   hanged. 

73 


74  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Betty,  go  see  what  he  wants.  God  forbid  he 
should  want  anything  in  my  house. ' ' 

Barnabas  and  the  surgeon  went  up  to  Joseph 
to  satisfy  themselves  concerning  the  piece  of  gold ; 
Joseph  was  with  difficulty  prevailed  upon  to  show 
it  them,  but  would  by  no  entreaties  be  brought  to 
deliver  it  out  of  his  own  possession.  He  however 
attested  this  to  be  the  same  which  had  been  taken 
from  him,  and  Betty  was  ready  to  swear  to  the 
finding  it  on  the  thief. 

The  only  difficulty  that  remained  was,  how  to 
produce  this  gold  before  the  justice;  for  as  to 
carrying  Joseph  himself,  it  seemed  impossible; 
nor  was  there  any  great  likelihood  of  obtaining  it 
from  him,  for  he  had  fastened  it  with  a  ribbon  to 
his  arm,  and  solemnly  vowed  that  nothing  but  ir- 
resistible force  should  ever  separate  them;  in 
which  resolution,  Mr.  Adams,  clenching  a  fist 
rather  less  than  the  knuckle  of  an  ox,  declared  he 
would  support  him. 

A  dispute  arose  on  this  occasion  concerning  evi- 
dence not  very  necessary  to  be  related  here ;  after 
which  the  surgeon  dressed  Mr.  Joseph's  head, 
still  persisting  in  the  imminent  danger  in  which  his 
patient  lay,  but  concluding,  with  a  very  important 
look,  ''That  he  began  to  have  some  hopes;  that  he 
should  send  him  a  sanative  soporiferous  draught, 
and  would  see  him  in  the  morning."  After  which 
Barnabas  and  he  departed,  and  left  Mr.  Joseph 
and  Mr.  Adams  together. 

Adams  informed  Joseph  of  the  occasion  of  this 
journey  which  he  was  making  to  London,  namely, 
to  publish  three  volumes  of  sermons;  being  en- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  75 

couraged,  as  he  said,  by  an  advertisement  lately 
set  forth  by  the  society  of  booksellers,  who  pro- 
posed to  purchase  any  copies  otfered  to  them,  at 
a  price  to  be  settled  by  two  persons;  but  though 
he  imagined  he  should  get  a  considerable  sum  of 
money  on  this  occasion,  which  his  family  were  in 
urgent  need  of,  he  protested  he  would  not  leave 
Joseph  in  his  present  condition:  finally,  he  told 
him,  ''He  had  nine  shillings  and  threepence  half- 
penny in  his  pocket,  which  he  was  welcome  to  use 
as  he  pleased." 

This  goodness  of  parson  Adams  brought  tears 
into  Joseph's  eyes;  he  declared,  "He  had  now  a 
second  reason  to  desire  life,  that  he  might  show 
his  gratitude  to  such  a  friend."  Adams  bade  him 
"be  cheerful;  for  that  he  plainly  saw  the  surgeon, 
besides  his  ignorance,  desired  to  make  a  merit  of 
curing  him,  though  the  wounds  in  his  head,  he 
perceived,  were  by  no  means  dangerous;  that  he 
was  convinced  he  had  no  fever,  and  doubted  not 
but  he  would  be  able  to  travel  in  a  day  or  two." 

These  words  infused  a  spirit  into  Joseph;  he 
said,  "He  found  himself  very  sore  from  the 
bruises,  but  had  no  reason  to  think  any  of  his  bones 
injured,  or  that  he  had  received  any  harm  in  his 
inside,  unless  that  he  felt  something  very  odd  in 
his  stomach ;  but  he  knew  not  whether  that  might 
not  arise  from  not  having  eaten  one  morsel  for 
above  twenty-four  hours."  Being  then  asked  if 
he  had  any  inclination  to  eat,  he  answered  in  the 
affirmative.  Then  parson  Adams  desired  him  to 
"name  what  he  had  the  greatest  fancy  for; 
livhether  a  poached  egg,  or  chicken-broth."    He 


76  THE  HISTORY  OF 

answered.  '  *  He  conld  eat  both  very  well ;  but  that 
he  seemed  to  have  the  greatest  appetite  for  a 
piece  of  boiled  beef  and  cabbage." 

Adams  was  pleased  with  so  perfect  a  confirma- 
tion that  he  had  not  the  least  fever,  but  advised 
him  to  a  lighter  diet  for  that  evening.  He  accord- 
ingly ate  either  a  rabbit  or  a  fowl,  I  never  could 
with  any  tolerable  certainty  discover  which;  after 
this  he  was,  by  Mrs.  Tow-wouse's  order,  conveyed 
into  a  better  bed  and  equipped  with  one  of  her 
husband's  shirts 

In  the  morning  early,  Barnabas  and  the  sur- 
geon came  to  the  inn,  in  order  to  see  the  thief  con- 
veyed before  the  justice.  They  had  consumed  the 
whole  night  in  debating  what  measures  they  should 
take  to  produce  the  piece  of  gold  in  evidence 
against  him ;  for  they  were  both  extremely  zeal- 
ous in  the  business,  though  neither  of  them  were  in 
the  least  interested  in  the  prosecution ;  neither  of 
them  had  ever  received  any  private  injury  from 
the  fellow,  nor  had  either  of  them  ever  been  sus- 
pected of  loving  the  public  well  enough  to  give 
them  a  sermon  or  a  dose  of  physic  for  nothing. 

To  help  our  reader,  therefore,  as  much  as  pos- 
sible to  account  for  this  zeal,  we  must  inform  him 
that,  as  this  parish  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  have 
no  lawyer  in  it,  there  had  been  a  constant  conten- 
tion between  the  two  doctors,  spiritual  and  physi- 
cal, concerning  their  abilities  in  a  scienjce,  in  which, 
as  neither  of  them  professed  it,  they  had  equal 
pretensions  to  dispute  each  other's  opinions. 
These  disputes  were  carried  on  with  great  con- 
tempt on  both  sides,  and  had  almost  divided  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  77 

parish ;  Mr.  Tow-wouse  and  one  half  of  the  neigh- 
bors inclining  to  the  surgeon,  and  Mrs.  Tow- 
wouse  with  the  other  half  to  the  parson.  The 
surgeon  drew  his  knowledge  from  those  inestima- 
ble fountains,  called  The  Attorney's  Pocket  Com- 
panion, and  Mr.  Jacob's  Law-Tables;  Barnabas 
trusted  entirely  to  "Wood's  Institutes.  It  hap- 
pened on  this  occasion,  as  was  pretty  frequently 
the  case,  that  these  two  learned  men  differed  about 
the  sufficiency  of  evidence;  the  doctor  being  of 
opinion  that  the  maid's  oath  would  convict  the 
prisoner  without  producing  the  gold ;  the  parson, 
e  contra,  totis  viribus.  To  display  their  parts, 
therefore,  before  the  justice  and  the  parish,  was 
the  sole  motive  which  we  can  discover  to  this  zeal 
which  both  of  them  pretended  to  have  for  public 
justice. 

0  Vanity !  how  little  is  thy  force  acknowledged, 
or  thy  operations  discerned !  How  wantonly 
dost  thou  deceive  mankind  under  different  dis- 
guises! Sometimes  thou  dost  wear  the  face  of 
pity,  sometimes  of  generosity :  nay,  thou  hast  the 
assurance  even  to  put  on  those  glorious  ornaments 
which  belong  only  to  heroic  virtue.  Thou  odious, 
deformed  monster!  whom  priests  have  railed 
at,  philosophers  despised,  and  poets  ridiculed; 
is  there  a  wretch  so  abandoned  as  to  own  thee 
for  an  acquaintance  in  public? — ^yet,  how  few  will 
refuse  to  enjoy  thee  in  private?  nay,  thou  art  the 
pursuit  of  most  men  through  their  lives.  The 
greatest  villainies  are  daily  practiced  to  please 
thee ;  nor  is  the  meanest  thief  below,  or  the  great- 
est hero  above,  thy  notice.     Thy  embraces   are 


78  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

often  the  sole  aim  and  sole  reward  of  the  private 
robbery  and  the  plundered  province.  It  is  to 
pamper  up  thee,  thou  harlot,  that  we  attempt  to 
withdraw  from  others  what  we  do  not  want,  or  to 
withhold  from  them  what  they  do.  All  our  pas- 
sions are  th}^  slaves.  Avarice  itself  is  often  no 
more  than  thy  handmaid,  and  even  Lust  thy  pimp. 
The  bully  Fear,  like  a  coward,  flies  before  thee, 
and  Joy  and  Grief  hide  their  heads  in  thy  pres- 
ence. 

I  know  thou  wilt  think  that  whilst  I  abuse  thee 
I  court  thee,  and  that  thy  love  hath  inspired  me 
to  write  this  sarcastical  panegyric  on  thee;  but 
thou  art  deceived :  I  value  thee  not  of  a  farthing ; 
nor  will  it  give  me  any  pain  if  thou  shouldst  pre- 
vail on  the  reader  to  censure  this  digression  as 
arrant  nonsense;  for  know,  to  thy  confusion,  that 
I  have  introduced  thee  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  lengthen  out  a  short  chapter,  and  so  I  return 
to  my  history. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  escape  of  the  thief.  Mr.  Adams'  disappointment.  The 
arrival  of  two  very  extraordinary  personages,  and  the 
introduction  of  parson  Adams  to  parson  Barnabas. 

BARNABAS  and  the  surgeon,  being  re- 
turned, as  we  have  said,  to  the  inn,  in 
order  to  convey  the  thief  before  the 
justice,  were  greatly  concerned  to  find  a  small  ac- 
cident had  happened,  which  somewhat  discon- 
certed them;  and  this  was  no  other  than  the  thief's 
escape,  who  had  modestly  withdrawn  himself  by 
night,  declining  all  ostentation,  and  not  choosing, 
in  imitation  of  some  great  men,  to  distinguish  him- 
self at  the  expense  of  being  pointed  at. 

When  the  company  had  retired  the  evening  be- 
fore, the  thief  was  detained  in  a  room  where  the 
constable,  and  one  of  the  young  fellows  who  took 
him,  were  planted  as  his  guard.  About  the  sec- 
ond watch  a  general  complaint  of  drought  was 
made,  both  by  the  prisoner  and  his  keepers. 
Among  whom  it  was  at  last  agreed  that  the  con- 
stable should  remain  on  duty,  and  the  young  fel- 
low call  up  the  tapster;  in  which  disposition  the 
latter  apprehended  not  the  least  danger,  as  the 
constable  was  well  armed,  and  could  besides  easily 
summon  him  back  to  his  assistance,  if  the  prisoner 
made  the  least  attempt  to  gain  his  liberty. 

The  young  fellow  had  not  long  left  the  room  be- 
79 


80  THE  HISTORY  OF 

fore  it  oeme  into  the  constable's  head  that  the 
prisoner  might  leap  on  him  by  surprise,  and, 
thereby  preventing  him  of  the  use  of  his  weapons, 
especially  the  long  staif  in  which  he  chiefly  con- 
fided, might  reduce  the  success  of  a  struggle  to  a 
equal  chance.  He  wisely,  therefore,  to  prevent 
this  inconvenience,  slipped  out  of  the  room  him- 
self, and  locked  the  door,  waiting  without  with  his 
staff  in  his  hand,  ready  lifted  to  fell  the  unhappy 
prisoner,  if  by  ill  fortune  he  should  attempt  to 
break  out. 

But  human  life,  as  hath  been  discovered  by  some 
great  man  or  other  (for  I  would  by  no  means  be 
understood  to  atfect  the  honor  of  making  any  such 
discovery),  very  much  resembles  a  game  at  chess; 
for  as  in  the  latter,  while  a  gamester  is  too  atten- 
tive to  secure  himself  very  strongly  on  one  side 
the  board,  he  is  apt  to  leave  an  unguarded  opening 
on  the  other ;  so  doth  it  often  happen  in  life,  and  so 
did  it  happen  on  this  occasion;  for  whilst  the 
cautious  constable  with  such  wonderful  sagacity 
had  possessed  himself  of  the  door,  he  most  unhap- 
pily forgot  the  window. 

The  thief,  who  played  on  the  other  side,  no 
sooner  perceived  this  opening  than  he  began  to 
move  that  way ;  and,  finding  the  passage  easy,  he 
took  with  him  the  young  fellow's  hat,  and  without 
any  ceremony  stepped  into  the  street  and  made 
the  best  of  his  way. 

The  young  fellow,  returning  with  a  double  mug 
of  strong  beer,  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  the 
constable  at  the  door;  but  much  more  so  when, 
the  door  being  opened,  he  perceived  the  prisoner 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  81 

had  made  his  escape,  and  which  way.  He  threw 
down  the  beer,  and,  without  uttering  anything  to 
the  constable  except  a  hearty  curse  or  two,  he 
nimbly  leaped  out  of  the  window,  and  went  again 
in  pursuit  of  his  prey,  being  very  unwilling  to  lose 
the  reward  which  he  had  assured  himself  of. 

The  constable  hath  not  been  discharged  of  sus- 
picion on  this  account;  it  hath  been  said  that,  not 
being  concerned  in  the  taking  the  thief,  he  could 
not  have  been  entitled  to  any  part  of  the  reward 
if  he  had  been  convicted ;  that  the  thief  had  sev- 
eral guineas  in  his  pocket;  that  it  was  very  un- 
likely he  should  have  been  guilty  of  such  an  over- 
sight; that  his  pretense  for  leaving  the  room  was 
absurd;  that  it  was  his  constant  maxim,  that  a 
wise  man  never  refused  money  on  any  conditions; 
that  at  every  election  he  always  had  sold  his  vote 
to  both  jDarties,  &c. 

But,  notwithstanding  these  and  many  other  such 
allegations,  T  am  sufficiently  convinced  of  his  in- 
nocence; having  been  positively  assured  of  it  by 
those  who  received  their  informations  from  his 
own  mouth;  which,  in  the  opinion  of  some  mod- 
erns, is  the  best  and  indeed  only  evidence. 

All  the  family  were  now  up,  and  with  many 
others  assembled  in  the  kitchen,  where  Mr.  Tow- 
wouse  was  in  some  tribulation ;  the  surgeon  having 
declared  that  by  law  he  was  liable  to  be  indicted 
for  the  thief's  escape,  as  it  was  out  of  his  house; 
he  was  a  little  comforted,  however,  by  Mr.  Bar- 
nabas's  opinion,  that  as  the  escape  was  by  night 
the  indictment  would  not  lie. 

Mrs.  Tow-wouse  delivered  herself  in  the  follow- 

J-6 


82  THE  HISTORY  OF 

ing  words:  ''Sure  never  was  sucli  a  fool  as  my 
husband ;  would  any  otlier  jjerson  living  have  left 
a  man  in  the  custody  of  such  a  drunken  drowsy 
blockhead  as  Tom  Suckbribe?"  (which  was  the 
constable's  name);  "and  if  he  could  be  indicted 
without  any  harm  to  his  wife  and  children,  I 
should  be  glad  of  it."  (Then  the  bell  rung  in 
Joseph's  room.)  "Why  Betty,  John,  Chamber- 
Iain,  where  the  devil  are  you  all?  Have  you  no 
ears,  or  no  conscience,  not  to  tend  the  sick  better? 
See  what  the  gentleman  wants.  Why  don't  you 
go  yourself,  Mr.  Tow-wouse?  But  any  one  may 
die  for  you ;  you  have  no  more  feeling  than  a  deal 
board.  If  a  man  lived  a  fortnight  in  your  house 
without  spending  a  penny,  you  would  never  put 
him  in  mind  of  it.  See  whether  he  drinks  tea  or 
coffee  for  breakfast."  "Yes,  my  dear,"  cried 
Tow-wouse.  She  then  asked  the  doctor  and  Mr. 
Barnabas  what  morning's  draught  they  chose, 
who  answered,  they  had  a  pot  of  cider-and  at  the 
fire ;  which  we  will  leave  them  merry  over,  and  re- 
turn to  Joseph. 

He  had  rose  pretty  early  this  morning;  but, 
though  his  wounds  were  far  from  threatening  any 
danger,  he  was  so  sore  with  the  bruises,  that  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  think  of  undertaking  a 
journey  yet;  Mr.  Adams,  therefore,  whose  stock 
was  visibly  decreased  with  the  expenses  of  supper 
and  breakfast,  and  which  could  not  survive  that 
day's  scoring,  began  to  consider  how  it  was  possi- 
ble to  recruit  it.  At  last  he  cried,  "He  had  luck- 
ily hit  on  a  sure  method,  and,  though  it  would 
oblige  him  to  return  himself  home  together  with 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  83 

Joseph,  it  mattered  not  mucla. ' '  He  them  sent  for 
Tow-wouse,  and,  taking  him  into  another  room, 
told  him  "he  wanted  to  borrow  three  guineas,  for 
"which  he  would  put  ample  security  into  his  hands." 
Tow-wouse,  who  expected  a  watch,  or  ring,  or 
something  of  double  the  value,  answered,  "He  be- 
lieved he  could  furnish  him. ' '  Upon  which  Adams, 
pointing  to  his  saddle-bag,  told  him,  with  a  face 
and  voice  full  of  solemnity,  "that  there  were  in 
that  bag  no  less  than  nine  volumes  of  manuscript 
sermons,  as  well  forth  a  hundred  pounds  as  a 
shilling  was  worth  twelve  pence,  and  that  he  would 
deposit  one  of  the  volumes  in  his  hands  by  way  of 
pledge ;  not  doubting  but  that  he  would  have  the 
honesty  to  return  it  on  his  repayment  of  the 
money;  for  otherwise  he  must  be  a  very  great 
loser,  seeing  that  every  volume  would  at  least 
bring  him  ten  pounds,  as  he  had  been  informed  by 
a  neighboring  clergyman  in  the  country;  for," 
said  he,  "as  to  my  own  part,  having  never  yet 
dealt  in  printing,  I  do  not  pretend  to  ascertain  the 
exact  value  of  such  things." 

Tow-wouse,  who  was  a  little  surprised  at  the 
pawn,  said  (and  not  without  some  truth),  "That 
he  was  no  judge  of  the  price  of  such  kind  of  goods ; 
and  as  for  money,  he  really  was  very  short." 
Adams  answered,  "Certainly  he  would  not  scruple 
to  lend  him  three  guineas  on  what  was  undoubt- 
edly worth  at  least  ten."  The  landlord  replied, 
' '  He  did  not  believe  he  had  so  much  money  in  the 
house,  and  besides,  he  was  to  make  up  a  sum.  He 
was  very  confident  the  books  were  of  much  higher 
yalue,  and  heartily  sorry  it  did  not  suit  him." 


84  THE  HISTORY  OF 

He  then  cried  out,  ''Coming  sir!"  though  nobody 
called;  and  ran  downstairs  without  any  fear  of 
breaking  his  neck. 

Poor  Adams  was  extremely  dejected  at  this  dis- 
appointment, nor  knew  he  what  further  strata- 
gem to  try.  He  immediately  applied  to  his  pipe, 
his  constant  friend  and  comfort  in  his  afflictions; 
and,  leaning  over  the  rails,  he  devoted  himself  to 
meditation,  assisted  by  the  inspiring  fumes  of 
tobacco. 

He  had  on  a  nightcap  drawn  over  his  wig,  and 
a  short  greatcoat,  which  half  covered  his  cassock 
— a  dress  which,  added  to  something  comical 
enough  in  his  countenance,  composed  a  figure 
likely  to  attract  the  eyes  of  those  who  were  not 
over  given  to  observation. 

Whilst  he  was  smoking  his  pipe  in  this  posture, 
a  coach  and  six,  with  a  numerous  attendance,  drove 
into  the  inn.  There  alighted  from  the  coach  a 
young  fellow  and  a  brace  of  pointers,  after  which 
another  young  fellow  leaped  from  the  box,  and 
shook  the  former  by  the  hand ;  and  both,  together 
with  the  dogs,  were  instantly  conducted  by  Mr. 
Tow-wouse  into  an  apartment;  whither  as  they 
passed,  they  entertained  themselves  with  the  fol- 
lowing short  facetious  dialogue: — 

"You  are  a  pretty  fellow  for  a  coachman. 
Jack!"  says  he  from  the  coach;  "you  had  almost 
overturned  us  just  now." — "Pox  take  you!"  says 
the  coachman;  "if  I  had  only  broke  your  neck,  it 
would  have  been  saving  somebody  else  the  trouble ; 
but  T  should  have  been  sorry  for  the  pointers." — 
"Why,  you  son  of  a  b — ,"  answered  the  other,  "if 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  85 

uobody  could  shoot  better  than  you,  the  pointers 
would  be  of  no  use." — ''D — n  me,"  says  the 
coachman,  ''I  will  shoot  with  you  five  guineas  a 
shot." — "You  be  hanged,"  says  the  other;  "for 
five  guineas  you  shall  shoot  at  my  a — ." — 
"Done,"  says  the  coachman;  "I'll  pepper  you 
better  than  ever  you  was  peppered  by  Jenny 
Bouncer." — "Pepper  your  grandmother,"  says 
the  other :  ' '  Here 's  Tow-wouse  will  let  you  shoot 
at  him  for  a  shilling  a  time." — "I  know  his  honor 
better,"  cries  Tow-wouse;  "I  never  saw  a  surer 
shot  at  a  partridge.  Every  man  misses  now  and 
then;  but  if  I  could  shoot  half  as  well  as  his 
honor,  I  would  desire  no  better  livelihood  than  I 
could  get  by  my  gun." — "Pox  on  you,"  said  the 
coachman,  "you  demolish  more  game  now  than 
your  head's  worth.  There's  a  bitch,  Tow-wouse: 
by  G —  she  never  blinked  ^  a  bird  in  her  life." — 
"I  have  a  puppy,  not  a  year  old,  shall  hunt  with 
her  for  a  hundred,"  cries  the  other  gentleman. — ■ 
"Done,"  says  the  coachman:  "but  you  will  be 
pox  'd  before  you  make  the  bet. ' ' — *  *  If  you  have  a 
mind  for  a  bet, ' '  cries  the  coachman, ' '  I  will  match 
my  spotted  dog  with  your  white  bitch  for  a  hun- 
dred, play  or  pay." — "Done,"  says  the  other: 
"and  I'll  run  Baldface  against  Slouch  with  you  for 
another. ' ' — ' '  No, ' '  cries  he  from  the  box ; ' '  but  I  '11 
venture  Miss  Jenny  against  Baldface,  or  Hanni- 
bal either." — "Go  to  the  devil,"  cries  he  from  the 
coach:  "I  will  make  every  bet  your  own  way,  to 
be  sure !    I  will  match  Hannibal  with  Slouch  for  a 

1  To  blink  is  a  terra  used  to  signify  the  dog's  passing  by  a 
bird  without  pointing  at  it. 


86  THE  HISTORY  OF 

thousand,  if  you   dare;   and  I   say   done  first." 

They  were  now  arrived ;  and  the  reader  will  be 
very  contented  to  leave  them,  and  rejoair  to  the 
kitchen;  where  Barnabas,  the  surgeon,  and  an  ex- 
ciseman were  smoking  their  pipes  over  some  cider- 
and;  and  where  the  servants,  who  attended  the  two 
noble  gentlemen  we  have  just  seen  alight,  were 
now  arrived, 

"Tom,"  cries  one  of  the  footmen,  'there's  par- 
son Adams  smoking  his  pipe  in  the  gallery." — 
*'Yes,"  says  Tom;  ''I  pulled  off  my  hat  to  him, 
and  the  parson  spoke  to  me." 

*'Is  the  gentleman  a  clergyman,  then?"  says 
Barnabas  (for  his  cassock  had  been  tied  up  when 
he  arrived).  "Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  footman; 
"and  one  there  be  but  few  like." — "Aye,"  said 
Barnabas;  "if  I  had  known  it  sooner,  I  should 
have  desired  his  company ;  I  would  always  show  a 
proper  respect  for  the  cloth:  but  what  say  you, 
doctor,  shall  we  adjourn  into  a  room,  and  invite 
him  to  take  part  of  a  bowl  of  punch?" 

This  proposal  was  immediately  agreed  to  and 
executed;  and  parson  Adams  accepting  the  invi- 
tation, much  civility  passed  between  the  two 
clergymen,  who  both  declared  the  great  honor 
they  had  for  the  cloth.  They  had  not  been  long 
together  before  they  entered  into  a  discourse  on 
small  tithes,  which  continued  a  full  hour,  without 
the  doctor  or  exciseman's  having  one  opportunity 
to  offer  a  word. 

It  was  then  proposed  to  begin  a  general  conver- 
sation, and  the  exciseman  opened  on  foreign  af- 
fairs ;  but  a  word  unluckily  dropping  from  one  of 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  87 

them  introduced  a  dissertation  on  the  hardship's 
suffered  by  the  inferior  clergy;  which,  after  a 
long  duration,  concluded  with  bringing  the  nine 
volumes  of  sermons  on  the  carpet. 

Barnabas  greatly  discouraged  poor  Adams;  he 
said,  ''The  age  was  so  wicked,  that  nobody  read 
sermons:  would  you  think  it,  Mr.  Adams?"  said 
he,  "I  once  intended  to  print  a  volume  of  sermons 
myself,  and  they  had  the  approbation  of  two  or 
three  bishops ;  but  what  do  you  think  a  bookseller 
offered  me?" — "Twelve  guineas  perhaps,"  cried 
Adams. — "Not  twelve  pence,  I  assure  you,"  an- 
swered Barnabas:  "nay,  the  dog  refused  me  a 
Concordance  in  exchange.  At  last  I  offered  to 
give  him  the  printing  them,  for  the  sake  of  dedi- 
cating them  to  that  very  gentleman  who  just  now 
drove  his  own  coach  into  the  inn;  and,  I  assure 
you,  he  had  the  impudence  to  refuse  my  offer;  by 
which  means  I  lost  a  good  living,  that  was  after- 
wards given  away  in  exchange  for  a  pointer,  to 
one  who — but  I  will  not  say  anything  ag'ainst  the 
cloth.  So  you  may  guess,  Mr.  Adams,  what  you 
are  to  expect;  for  if  sermons  would  have  gone 
down,  I  believe — I  will  not  be  vain ;  but  to  be  con- 
cise with  you,  three  bishops  said  they  were  the 
best  that  ever  were  written :  but  indeed  there  are  a 
pretty  moderate  number  printed  already,  and  not 
all  sold  yet." — "Pray,  sir,"  said  Adams,  "to 
what  do  you  think  the  numbers  may  amount?" — 
"Sir,"  answered  Barnabas,  "a  bookseller  told  me, 
he  believed  five  thousand  volumes  at  least." — 
"Five  thousand?"  quoth  the  surgeon:  "What  can 
they  be  written  upon?    I  remember  when  I  was  a 


88  THE  HISTORY  OF 

boy,  I  used  to  read  one  Tillotson's  sermons;  and, 
I  am  sure,  if  a  man  practiced  half  so  much  as  is  in 
one  of  those  sermons,  he  will  go  to  heaven." — 
"Doctor,"  cried  Barnabas,  "you  have  a  profane 
way  of  talking,  for  which  I  must  reprove  you.  A 
man  can  never  have  his  duty  too  frequently  incul- 
cated into  him.  And  as  for  Tillotson,  to  be  sure 
he  was  a  good  writer,  and  said  things  very  well ; 
but  comparisons  are  odious;  another  man  may 

write  as  well  as  he 1  believe  there  are  some  of 

my  sermons," and  then  he  applied  the  candle 

to  his  pipe. — "And  I  believe  there  are  some  of  my 
discourses,"  cries  Adams,  "which  the  bishops 
would  not  think  totally  unworthy  of  being  printed ; 
and  I  have  been  informed  I  might  procure  a  very 
large  sum  (indeed  an  immense  one)  on  them." — 
"I  doubt  that,"  answered  Barnabas:  "however, 
if  you  desire  to  make  some  money  of  them,  per- 
haps you  may  sell  them  by  advertising  the  manu- 
script sermons  of  a  clergyman  lately  deceased,  all 
warranted  originals,  and  never  printed.  And  now 
I  think  of  it,  I  should  be  obliged  to  you,  if  there  be 
ever  a  funeral  one  among  them,  to  lend  it  me ;  for 
I  am  this  very  day  to  preach  a  funeral  sermon,  for 
which  I  have  not  penned  a  line,  though  I  am  to 
have  a  double  price." — Adams  answered,  "He 
had  but  one,  which  lie  feared  would  not  serve  his 
purpose,  being  sacred  to  the  memory  of  a  magis- 
trate, who  had  exerted  himself  very  singularly  in 
the  preservation  of  the  morality  of  his  neighbors, 
insomuch  that  he  had  neither  alehouse  nor  lewd 
woman  in  the  parish  where  he  lived." — "No,"  re- 
i:>lied  Barnabas,  "that  will  not  do  quite  so  well; 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  89 

for  thie  deceased,  upon  whose  virtues  I  am  to 
harangue,  was  a  little  too  much  addicted  to  liquor, 

and  publicly  kept  a  mistress. 1  believe  I  must 

take  a  common  sermon,  and  trust  to  my  memory  to 
introduce  something  handsome  on  him." — '*To 
your  invention  rather,"  said  the  doctor:  ''your 
memory  will  be  apter  to  put  you  out ;  for  no  man 
living  remembers  anything  good  of  him." 

With  such  kind  of  spiritual  discourse,  they 
emptied  the  bowl  of  punch,  paid  their  reckoning, 
and  sei^arated :  Adams  and  the  doctor  went  up  to 
Joseph,  parson  Barnabas  departed  to  celebrate 
the  aforesaid  deceased,  and  the  exciseman  de- 
scended into  the  cellar  to  guage  the  vessels. 

Joseph  was  now  ready  to  sit  down  to  a  loin  of 
mutton,  and  waited  for  Mr.  Adams,  when  he  and 
the  doctor  came  in.  The  doctor,  having  felt  his 
pulse  and  examined  his  wounds,  declared  him 
much  better,  which  he  imputed  to  that  sanative 
soporiferous  draught,  a  medicine  "whose  vir- 
tues," he  said,  "were  never  to  be  sufficiently  ex- 
tolled." And  great  indeed  they  must  be,  if 
Joseph  was  so  much  indebted  to  them  as  the  doc- 
tor imagined;  since  nothing  more  than  those  ef- 
fluvia which  escaped  the  cork  could  have  contrib- 
uted to  his  recovery;  for  the  medicine  had  stood 
untouched  in  the  window  ever  since  its  arrival. 

Joseph  passed  that  day,  and  the  three  following, 
with  his  friend  Adams,  in  which  nothing  so  re- 
markable happened  as  the  swift  progress  of  his 
recovery.  As  he  had  an  excellent  habit  of  body, 
his  wounds  were  now  almost  healed;  and  his 
bruises  gave   him   so   little  uneasiness,   that  he 


90  THE  HISTORY  OF 

pressed  Mr.  Adams  to  let  him  depart ;  told  him  he 
should  never  be  able  to  return  suflScient  thanks  for 
all  his  favors,  but  begged  that  he  might  no  longer 
delay  his  journey  to  London. 

Adams,  notwithstanding  the  ignorance,  as  he 
conceived  it,  of  Mr.  Tow-wouse,  and  the  envy  (for 
such  he  thought  it)  of  Mr.  Barnabas,  had  great  ex- 
pectations from  his  sermons:  seeing  therefore 
Joseph  in  so  good  a  way,  he  told  him  he  would 
agree  to  his  setting  out  the  next  morning  in  the 
stage-coach,  that  he  believed  he  should  have  suffi- 
cient, after  the  reckoning  paid,  to  procure  him 
one  day's  conveyance  in  it,  and  afterwards  he 
would  be  able  to  get  on  on  foot,  or  might  be 
favored  with  a  lift  in  some  neighbor's  wagon,  es- 
pecially as  there  was  then  to  be  a  fair  in  the  town 
whither  the  coach  would  carry  him,  to  which  num- 
bers from  his  parish  resorted — And  as  to  him- 
self, he  agreed  to  proceed  to  the  great  city. 

They  were  now  walking  in  the  inn-yard,  when  a 
fat,  fair,  short  person  rode  in,  and,  alighting  from 
his  horse,  went  directly  up  to  Barnabas,  who  was 
smoking  his  pipe  on  a  bench.  The  parson  and  the 
stranger  shook  one  another  very  lovingly  by  the 
hand,  and  went  into  a  room  together. 

The  evening  now  coming  on,  Joseph  retired  to 
his  chamber,  whither  the  good  Adams  accom- 
panied him,  and  took  this  opportunity  to  expati- 
ate on  the  great  mercies  God  had  lately  shown  him, 
of  which  he  ought  not  only  to  have  the  deepest  in- 
ward sense,  but  likewise  to  express  outward  thank- 
fulness for  them.    They  therefore  fell  both  on 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  91 

their   knees,   and   spent   a   considerable   time   in 
prayer  and  thanksgiving. 

They  had  just  finished  when  Betty  came  in  and 
told  Mr.  Adams  Mr.  Barnabas  desired  to  speak  to 
him  on  some  business  of  consequence  below-stairs. 
Joseph  desired,  if  it  was  likely  to  detain  him  long, 
he  would  let  him  know  it,  that  he  might  go  to  bed, 
which  Adams  promised,  and  in  that  case  they 
wished  one  another  good-night. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  pleasant  discourse  between  the  two  parsons  and  the  book- 
seller, which  was  broke  off  by  an  unlucky  accident  hap- 
pening in  the  inn,  which  produced  a  dialogue  between 
Mi"s,  Tow-wouse  and  her  maid  of  no  gentle  kind. 

AS  soon  as  Adams  came  into  the  room,  Mr. 
Barnabas  introduced  him  to  the  stranger, 
who  was,  he  told  him,  a  bookseller,  and 
would  be  as  likely  to  deal  with  him  for  his  ser- 
mons as  any  man  whatever.  Adams,  saluting  the 
stranger,  answered  Barnabas,  that  he  was  very 
much  obliged  to  him ;  that  nothing  could  be  more 
convenient,  for  he  had  no  other  business  to  the 
great  city,  and  was  heartily  desirous  of  returning 
with  the  young  man,  who  was  just  recovered  of  his 
misfortune.  He  then  snapped  his  fingers  (as  was 
usual  with  him),  and  took  two  or  three  turns  about 
the  room  in  an  ecstasy.  And  to  induce  the  book- 
seller to  be  as  expeditious  as  possible,  as  likewise 
to  offer  him  a  better  price  for  his  commodity,  he 
assured  them  their  meeting  was  extremely  lucky 
to  himself;  for  that  he  had  the  most  pressing  oc- 
casion for  money  at  that  time,  his  own  being  al- 
most spent,  and  having  a  friend  then  in  the  same 
inn,  who  was  just  recovered  from  some  wounds  he 
had  received  from  robbers,  and  was  in  a  most  in- 
digent condition.  ''So  that  nothing,"  says  he, 
"could  be  so  opportune  for  the  supplying  both  our 

92 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  93 

necessities  as  my  making  an  immediate  bargain 
with  you." 

As  soon  as  he  had  seated  himself,  the  stranger 
began  in  these  words:  "Sir,  I  do  not  care  abso- 
lutely to  deny  engaging  in  what  my  friend  Mr. 
Barnabas  recommends;  but  sermons  are  mere 
drugs.  The  trade  is  so  vastly  stocked  with  them, 
that  really,  unless  they  come  out  with  the  name 
of  Whitefield  or  Wesley,  or  some  other  such  great 
man,  as  a  bishop,  or  those  sort  of  people,  I  don't 
care  to  touch ;  unless  now  it  was  a  sermon  preached 
on  the  30th  of  January;  or  we  could  say  in  the 
title-page,  published  at  the  earnest  request  of  the 
congregation,  or  the  inhabitants;  but,  truly,  for 
a  dry  piece  of  sermons,  I  had  rather  be  excused; 
especially  as  my  hands  are  so  full  at  present. 
However,  sir,  as  Mr.  Barnabas  mentioned  them  to 
me,  I  will,  if  you  please,  take  the  manuscript  with 
me  to  town,  and  send  you  my  opinion  of  it  in  a 
very  short  time." 

*'0h!"  said  Adams,  "if  you  desire  it,  I  will 
read  two  or  three  discourses  as  a  specimen." 
This  Barnabas,  who  loved  sermons  no  better  than 
a  grocer  doth  figs,  immediately  objected  to,  and 
advised  Adams  to  let  the  bookseller  have  his  ser- 
mons: telling  him,  "if  he  gave  him  a  direction, 
he  might  be  certain  of  a  speedy  answer;"  adding, 
he  need  not  scruple  trusting  them  in  his  posses- 
sion. "No,"  said  the  bookseller,  "if  it  was  a 
play  that  had  been  acted  twenty  nights  together, 
I  believe  it  would  be  safe." 

Adams  did  not  at  all  relish  the  last  expression ; 
he  said  "he  was  sorry  to  hear  sermons  compared 


94  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  plays." — ''Not  by  me,  I  assure  you,"  cried 
the  bookseller,  ''though  I  don't  know  whether  the 
licensing  act  may  not  shortly  bring  them  to  the 
same  footing;  but  I  have  formerly  known  a  hun- 
dred guineas  given  for  a  play." — "More  shame 
for  those  who  gave  it,"  cried  Barnabas. — "Why 
so?"  said  the  bookseller,  "for  they  got  hundreds 
by  it." — "But  is  there  no  difference  between  con- 
veying good  or  ill  instructions  to  mankind?"  said 
Adams:  "Would  not  an  honest  mind  rather  lose 
money  by  the  one,  than  gain  it  by  the  other?" — 
"If  you  can  find  any  such,  I  will  not  be  their  hin- 
drance," answered  the  bookseller;  "but  I  think 
those  persons  who  get  by  preaching  sermons  are 
the  properest  to  lose  by  printing  them:  for  my 
part,  the  copy  that  sells  best  will  be  always  the 
best  copy  in  my  opinion ;  I  am  no  enemy  to  ser- 
mons, but  because  they  don't  sell:  for  I  would  as 
soon  print  one  of  Whitefield's  as  any  farce  what- 
ever. ' ' 

"Whoever  prints  such  heterodox  stuff  ought 
to  be  hanged,"  says  Barnabas.  "Sir,"  said  he, 
turning  to  Adams,  "this  fellow's  writings  (I 
know  not  whether  you  have  seen  them)  are  leveled 
at  the  clergy.  He  would  reduce  us  to  the  exam- 
l^le  of  the  primitive  ages,  forsooth!  and  would 
insinuate  to  the  people  that  a  clergyman  ought 
to  be  always  preaching  and  praying.  He  pre- 
tends to  understand  the  Scripture  literally;  and 
would  make  mankind  believe  that  the  poverty  and 
low  estate  which  was  recommended  to  the  Church 
in  its  infancy,  and  was  only  temporary  doctrine 
adapted  to  her  under  persecution,  was  to  be  pre- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  95 

served  in  her  flourishing  and  established  state. 
Sir,  the  principles  of  Toland,  Woolston,  and  all 
the  freethinkers,  are  not  calculated  to  do  half  the 
mischief,  as  those  professed  by  this  fellow  and 
his  followers." 

"Sir,"  answered  Adams,  ''if  Mr.  Whitefield 
had  carried  his  doctrine  no  farther  than  you  men- 
tion, I  should  have  remained,  as  I  once  was,  his 
well-wisher.  I  am,  myself,  as  great  an  enemy 
to  the  luxury  and  splendor  of  the  clergy  as  he  can 
be.  I  do  not,  more  than  he,  by  the  flourishing 
estate  of  the  Church,  understand  the  palaces, 
equipages,  dress,  furniture,  rich  dainties,  and  vast 
fortunes,  of  her  ministers.  Surely  those  things, 
which  savor  so  strongly  of  this  world,  become  not 
the  servants  of  one  who  professed  His  kingdom 
was  not  of  it.  But  when  he  began  to  call  nonsense 
and  enthusiasm  to  his  aid,  and  set  up  the  detest- 
able doctrine  of  faith  against  good  works,  I  was 
his  friend  no  longer ;  for  surely  that  doctrine  was 
coined  in  hell;  and  one  would  think  none  but  the 
devil  himself  could  have  the  confidence  to  preach 
it.  For  can  anything  be  more  derogatory  to  the 
honor  of  God  than  for  men  to  imagine  that  the 
all-wise  Being  will  hereafter  say  to  the  good  and 
virtuous,  'Notwithstanding  the  purity  of  thy  life, 
notwithstanding  that  constant  rule  of  virtue  and 
goodness  in  which  you  walked  upon  earth,  still, 
as  thou  didst  not  believe  everything  in  the  true 
orthodox  manner,  thy  want  of  faith  shall  con- 
demn thee?'  Or,  on  the  other  side,  can  any  doc- 
trine have  a  more  pernicious  influence  on  society, 
than  a  persuasion  that  it  will  be  a  good  plea  for 


96  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  villain  at  the  last  day — 'Lord,  it  is  true  I 
never  obeyed  one  of  thy  commandments,  yet  pun- 
ish me  not,  for  I  believe  them  all?'  " — "I  sup- 
pose, sir,"  said  the  bookseller,  ''your  sermons  are 
of  a  different  kind." — "Aye,  sir,"  said  Adams; 
"the  contrary,  I  thank  Heaven,  is  inculcated  in 
almost  every  page,  or  I  should  belie  my  own  opin- 
ion, which  hath  always  been,  that  a  virtuous  and 
good  Turk,  or  heathen,  are  more  acceptable  in  the 
sight  of  their  Creator  than  a  vicious  and  wicked 
Christian,  though  his  faith  was  as  perfectly  ortho- 
dox as  St.  Paul's  himself." — "I  wish  you  suc- 
cess," says  the  bookseller,  "but  must  beg  to  be 
excused,  as  my  hands  are  so  very  full  at  present ; 
and,  indeed,  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  a  backward- 
ness in  the  trade  to  engage  in  a  book  which  the 
clergy  would  be  certain  to  cry  down." — "God 
forbid,"  says  Adams,  "any  books  should  be  prop- 
agated which  the  clergy  would  cry  down;  but  if 
you  mean  by  the  clergy,  some  few  designing 
factious  men,  who  have  it  at  heart  to  establish 
some  favorite  schemes  at  the  price  of  the  liberty 
of  mankind,  and  the  very  essence  of  religion,  it 
is  not  in  the  power  of  such  persons  to  decry  any 
book  they  please;  witness  that  excellent  book 
called,  'A  Plain  Account  of  the  Nature  and  End 
of  the  Sacrament;'  a  book  written  (if  I  may  ven- 
ture on  the  expression)  with  the  pen  of  an  angel, 
and  calculated  to  restore  the  true  use  of  Chris- 
tianitj^,  and  of  that  sacred  institution;  for  what 
could  tend  more  to  the  noble  purposes  of  religion 
than  frequent  cheerful  meetings  among  the  mem- 
bers of  a  society,  in  which  they  should,  in  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  97 

presence  of  one  another,  and  in  the  service  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  make  promises  of  being  good, 
friendly,  and  benevolent  to  each  other?  Now, 
this  excellent  book  was  attacked  by  a  party,  but 
unsuccessfully."  At  these  words  Barnabas  fell 
a-ringing  with  all  the  violence  imaginable;  upon 
which  a  servant  attending,  he  bid  him  *' bring  a 
bill  immediately;  for  that  he  was  in  company,  for 
aught  he  knew,  with  the  devil  himself;  and  he  ex- 
pected to  hear  the  Alcoran,  the  Leviathan,  or 
Woolston  commended,  if  he  stayed  a  few  minutes 
longer."  Adams  desired,  ''as  he  was  so  much 
moved  at  his  mentioning  a  book  which  he  did  with- 
out apprehending  any  possibility  of  oifense,  that 
he  would  be  so  kind  to  propose  any  objections  he 
had  to  it,  which  he  would  endeavor  to  answer." 
— ''I  propose  objections!"  said  Barnabas,  "I 
never  read  a  syllable  in  any  such  wicked  book;  I 
never  saw  it  in  my  life,  I  assure  you." — Adams 
was  going  to  answer,  when  a  most  hideous  uproar 
began  in  the  inn.  Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  Mr.  Tow- 
wouse,  and  Betty,  all  lifting  up  their  voices  to- 
gether; but  Mrs.  Tow-wouse 's  voice,  like  a  bass 
viol  in  a  concert,  was  clearly  and  distinctly  dis- 
tinguished among  the  rest,  and  was  heard  to  ar- 
ticulate the  following  sounds  : — ' '  0  you  damn  'd 
villain!  is  this  the  return  to  all  the  care  I  have 
taken  of  your  family?  This  the  reward  of  my 
virtue?  Is  this  the  manner  in  which  you  behave 
to  one  who  brought  you  a  fortune,  and  preferred 
you  to  so  many  matches,  all  your  betters?  To 
abuse  my  bed,  my  own  bed,  with  my  own  servant ! 

but  I'll  maul  the  slut,  I'll  tear  her  nasty  eyes  out! 
1—7 


98  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Was  ever  such  a  pitiful  dog,  to  take  up  with  sucH 
a  mean  trollop?  If  she  had  been  a  gentlewoman, 
like  myself,  it  had  been  some  excuse;  but  a  beg- 
garly, saucy,  dirty  servant-maid.  Get  you  out  of 
mj^  house,  you  whore."  To  which  she  added  an- 
other name,  which  we  do  not  care  to  stain  our  pa- 
per with.  It  was  a  monosyllable  beginning  with  a 
b — ,  and  indeed  was  the  same  as  if  she  had  pro- 
nounced the  words,  she-dog.  Which  term  we 
shall,  to  avoid  offense,  use  on  this  occasion,  though 
indeed  both  the  mistress  and  maid  uttered  the 
above-mentioned  b — ,  a  word  extremely  disgustful 
to  females  of  the  lower  sort.  Betty  had  borne  all 
hitherto  with  patience,  and  had  uttered  only  lam- 
entations; but  the  last  appellation  stung  her  to 
the  quick.  "I  am  a  woman  as  well  as  yourself," 
she  roared  out,  ^'and  no  she-dog;  and  if  I  have 
been  a  little  naughty,  I  am  not  the  first ;  if  I  have 
been  no  better  than  I  should  be,"  cries  she,  sob- 
bing, ''that's  no  reason  you  should  call  me  out  of 
ray  name;  my  be-betters  are  wo-rse  than  me." — 
''Huzzy,  huzzy,"  says  Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  "have 
you  the  impudence  to  answer  me?  Did  I  not 
catch  you,  you  saucy" — and  then  again  repeated 
the  terrible  word  so  odious  to  female  ears.  "I 
can't  bear  that  name,"  answered  Betty:  "if  I 
have  been  wicked,  I  am  to  answer  for  it  myself 
in  the  other  world ;  but  I  have  done  nothing  that's 
unnatural;  and  I  will  go  out  of  your  house  this 
moment,  for  I  will  never  be  called  she-dog  by  any 
mistress  in  England."  Mrs.  Tow-wouse  then 
armed  herself  with  the  spit,  but  was  prevented 
from   executing   any   dreadful   purpose   by   Mr. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  99 

Adams,  who  confined  her  arms  with  the  strength 
of  a  wrist  which  Hercules  would  not  have  been 
ashamed  of.  Mr.  Tow-wouse,  being  caught,  as 
our  lawyers  express  it,  with  the  manner,  and  hav- 
ing no  defense  to  make,  very  prudently  withdrew 
himself;  and  Betty  committed  herself  to  the  pro- 
tection of  the  hostler,  who,  though  she  could  not 
conceive  him  jjleased  with  what  had  happened, 
was,  in  her  opinion,  rather  a  gentler  beast  than 
her  mistress. 

Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  at  the  intercession  of  Mr. 
Adams,  and  finding  the  enemy  vanished,  began  to 
compose  herself,  and  at  length  recovered  the 
usual  serenity  of  her  temper,  in  which  we  will 
leave  her,  to  open  to  the  reader  the  steps  which 
led  to  a  catastrophe,  common  enough,  and  comi- 
cal enough  too  perhaps,  in  modern  history,  yet 
often  fatal  to  the  repose  and  well-being  of  fami- 
lies, and  the  subject  of  many  tragedies,  both  in 
life  and  on  the  stage. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  historj'  of  Betty  the  chambermaid,  and  an  account  of  what 
occasioned  the  violent  scene  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

BETTY,  who  was  the  occasion  of  all  this 
hurry,  had  some  good  qualities.  She  had 
good-nature,  generosity,  and  compassion, 
but  unfortunately,  her  constitution  was  composed 
of  those  warm  ingredients  which,  though  the  pur- 
ity of  courts  or  nunneries  might  have  happily  con- 
troled  them,  were  by  no  means  able  to  endure  the 
ticklish  situation  of  a  chambermaid  at  an  inn; 
who  is  daily  liable  to  the  solicitations  of  lovers 
of  all  complexions ;  to  the  dangerous  addresses  of 
fine  gentlemen  of  the  army,  who  sometimes  are 
obliged  to  reside  with  them  a  whole  year  together ; 
and,  above  all,  are  exposed  to  the  caresses  of  foot- 
men, stage-coachmen,  and  drawers;  all  of  whom 
employ  the  whole  artillery  of  kissing,  flattering, 
bribing,  and  every  other  weapon  which  is  to  be 
found  in  the  whole  armory  of  love,  against  them. 

Betty,  who  was  but  one-and-twenty,  had  now 
lived  three  years  in  this  dangerous  situation,  dur- 
ing which  she  had  escaped  pretty  well.  An  en- 
sign of  foot  was  the  first  person  who  made  an  im- 
pression on  her  heart;  he  did  indeed  raise  a  flame 
in  her  which  required  the  care  of  a  surgeon  to 
cool. 

While  she  burned  for  him,  several  others  burned 

100 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  101 

for  her.  Officers  of  the  army,  young  gentlemen 
traveling  the  western  circuit,  inoffensive  squires, 
and  some  of  graver  character,  were  set  a-fire  by 
her  charms ! 

At  length,  having  perfectly  recovered  the  ef- 
fects of  her  first  unhappy  passion,  she  seemed  to 
have  vowed  a  state  of  perpetual  chastity.  She 
was  long  deaf  to  all  the  sufferings  of  her  lovers, 
till  one  day,  at  a  neighboring  fair,  the  rhetoric  of 
John  the  hostler,  with  a  new  straw  hat  and  a  pint 
of  wine,  made  a  second  conquest  over  her. 

She  did  not,  however,  feel  any  of  those  flames 
on  this  occasion  which  had  been  the  consequence 
of  her  former  amour ;  nor,  indeed,  those  other  ill 
effects  which  prudent  young  women  very  justly 
apprehend  from  too  absolute  an  indulgence  to  the 
pressing  endearments  of  their  lovers.  This  lat- 
ter, perhaps,  was  a  little  owing  to  her  not  being 
entirely  constant  to  John,  with  whom  she  per- 
mitted Tom  Whipwell  the  stage-coachman,  and 
now  and  then  a  handsome  young  traveler,  to  share 
her  favors. 

Mr.  Tow-wouse  had  for  some  time  cast  the 
languishing  eyes  of  affection  on  this  young 
maiden.  He  had  laid  hold  on  every  opportunity 
of  saying  tender  things  to  her,  squeezing  her  by 
the  hand,  and  sometimes  kissing  her  lips;  for,  as 
the  violence  of  his  passion  had  considerably 
abated  to  Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  so,  like  water,  which 
is  stopped  from  its  usual  current  in  one  place,  it 
naturally  sought  a  vent  in  another.  Mrs.  Tow- 
wouse  is  thought  to  have  perceived  this  abate- 
ment, and,  probably,  it  added  very  little  to  the 


102  THE  HISTORY  OF 

natural  sweetness  of  her  temper;  for  though  she 
was  as  true  to  her  husband  as  the  dial  to  the  sun, 
she  was  rather  more  desirous  of  being  shone  on, 
as  being  more  capable  of  feeling  his  warmth. 

Every  since  Joseph's  arrival,  Betty  had  con- 
ceived an  extraordinary  liking  to  him,  which  dis- 
covered itself  more  and  more  as  he  grew  better 
and  better;  till  that  fatal  evening,  when,  as  she 
was  warming  his  bed,  her  passion  grew  to  such  a 
height,  and  so  perfectly  mastered  both  her  mod- 
esty and  her  reason,  that,  after  many  fruitless 
hints  and  sly  insinuations,  she  at  last  threw  down 
the  warming-pan,  and,  embracing  him  with  great 
eagerness,  swore  he  was  the  handsomest  creature 
she  had  ever  seen. 

Joseph,  in  great  confusion,  leaped  from  her,  and 
told  her  he  was  sorry  to  see  a  young  woman  cast 
off  all  regard  to  modesty;  but  she  had  gone  too 
far  to  recede,  and  grew  so  very  indecent,  that  Jo- 
seph was  obliged,  contrary  to  his  inclination,  to  use 
some  violence  to  her ;  and,  taking  her  in  his  arms, 
he  shut  her  out  of  the  room,  and  locked  the  door. 

How  ought  man  to  rejoice  that  his  chastity  is 
always  in  his  own  power;  that,  if  he  hath  suffi- 
cient strength  of  mind,  he  hath  always  a  compe- 
tent strength  of  body  to  defend  himself,  and  can- 
not, like  a  poor  weak  woman,  be  ravished  against 
his  will ! 

Betty  was  in  the  most  violent  agitation  at  this 
disappointment.  Rage  and  lust  pulled  her  heart, 
as  with  two  strings,  two  different  ways;  one  mo- 
ment she  thought  of  stabbing  Joseph ;  the  next,  of 
taking  him  in  her  arms,  and  devouring  him  with 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  103 

kisses ;  but  the  latter  passion  was  far  more  preva- 
lent. Then  she  thought  of  revenging  his  refusal 
on  herself;  but,  whilst  she  was  engaged  in  this 
meditation,  happily  death  presented  himself  to 
her  in  so  many  shapes,  of  drowning,  hanging, 
poisoning,  &c.,  that  her  distracted  mind  could 
resolve  on  none.  In  this  perturbation  of  spirit, 
it  accidentally  occurred  to  her  memory  that  her 
master's  bed  was  not  made;  she  therefore  went 
directly  to  his  room,  where  he  happened  at  that 
time  to  be  engaged  at  his  bureau.  As  soon  as  she 
saw  him,  she  attempted  to  retire;  but  he  called 
her  back,  and,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  squeezed 
her  so  tenderly,  at  the  same  time  whispering  so 
many  soft  things  into  her  ears,  and  then  pressed 
her  so  closely  with  his  kisses,  that  the  vanquished 
fair  one,  whose  passions  were  already  raised,  and 
which  were  not  so  whimsically  capricious  that  one 
man  only  could  lay  them,  though,  perhaps,  she 
would  have  rather  preferred  that  one — the  van- 
quished fair  one  quietly  submitted,  I  say,  to  her 
master's  will,  who  had  just  attained  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  bliss  when  Mrs.  Tow-wouse  unex- 
pectedly entered  the  room,  and  caused  all  that 
confusion  which  we  have  before  seen,  and  which 
it  is  not  necessary,  at  present,  to  take  any  farther 
notice  of;  since,  without  the  assistance  of  a  single 
hint  from  us,  every  reader  of  any  speculation  or 
experience,  though  not  married  himself,  may 
easily  conjecture  that  it  concluded  with  the  dis- 
charge of  Betty,  the  submission  of  Mr.  Tow- 
wouse,  with  some  things  to  be  performed  on  his 
side  by  way  of  gratitude  for  his  wife's  goodness 


104  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

in  being  reconciled  to  him,  with  many  hearty 
l^romises  never  to  offend  any  more  in  the  like 
manner;  and,  lastly,  his  quietly  and  contentedly 
bearing  to  be  reminded  of  his  transgressions,  as 
a  kind  of  penance,  once  or  twice  a  day  during  the 
residue  of  his  life. 


BOOK  II 

CHAPTER  I 

Of  Divisions  in  Authors. 

THERE  are  certain  mysteries  or  secrets  in 
all  trades,  from  the  liighest  to  the  lowest, 
from  that  of  prime-ministering  to  this  of 
authoring,  which  are  seldom  discovered  nnless 
to  members  of  the  same  calling.  Among  those 
used  by  us  gentlemen  of  the  latter  occupation,  I 
take  this  of  dividing  our  works  into  books  and 
chapters  to  be  none  of  the  least  considerable. 
Now,  for  want  of  being  truly  acquainted  with  this 
secret,  common  readers  imagine,  that  by  this  art 
of  dividing  we  mean  only  to  swell  our  works  to  a 
much  larger  bulk  than  they  would  otherwise  be 
extended  to.  These  several  places  therefore  in 
our  paper,  which  are  filled  with  our  books  and 
chapters,  are  understood  as  so  much  buckram, 
stays,  and  stay-tape  in  a  tailor's  bill,  serving  only 
to  make  up  the  sum  total,  commonly  found  at  the 
bottom  of  our  first  page  and  of  his  last. 

But  in  reality  the  case  is  otherwise,  and  in  this 
as  well  as  all  other  instances  we  consult  the  advan- 
tage of  our  reader,  not  our  own ;  and  indeed,  many 
notable  uses  arise  to  him  from  this  method;  for, 
first,  those  little  spaces  between  our  chapters  may 
be  looked  upon  as  an  inn  or  resting-place  where 

105 


106  THE  HISTORY  OF 

lie  may  stop  and  take  a  glass  or  any  other  refresh- 
ment as  it  pleases  Mm.  Nay,  our  fine  readers 
will,  perhaps,  be  scarce  able  to  travel  farther  than 
through  one  of  them  in  a  day.  As  to  those  va- 
cant pages  which  are  placed  between  our  books, 
they  are  to  be  regarded  as  those  stages  where  in 
long  journeys  the  traveler  stays  some  time  to  re- 
pose himself,  and  consider  of  what  he  hath  seen 
in  the  parts  he  hath  already  passed  through; 
a  consideration  which  I  take  the  liberty  to 
recommend  a  little  to  the  reader;  for,  however 
swift  his  capacity  may  be,  I  would  not  ad- 
vise him  to  travel  through  these  pages  too 
fast;  for  if  he  doth,  he  may  probably  miss  the 
seeing  some  curious  productions  of  nature,  which 
will  be  observed  by  the  slower  and  more  accurate 
reader.  A  volume  without  any  such  places  of  rest 
resembles  the  opening  of  wilds  or  seas,  which 
tires  the  eye  and  fatigues  the  spirit  when  entered 
upon. 

Secondly,  what  are  the  contents  prefixed  to 
every  chapter  but  so  many  inscriptions  over  the 
gates  of  inns  (to  continue  the  same  metaphor), 
informing  the  reader  what  entertainment  he  is 
to  expect,  which  if  he  likes  not,  he  may  travel  on 
to  the  next;  for,  in  biography,  as  we  are  not  tied 
down  to  an  exact  concatenation  equally  with  other 
historians,  so  a  chapter  or  two  (for  instance,  this 
I  am  now  writing)  may  be  often  passed  over  with- 
out any  injury  to  the  whole.  And  in  these  in- 
scriptions I  have  been  as  faithful  as  possible,  not 
imitating  the  celebrated  Montaigne,  who  promises 
you  one  thing  and  gives  you  another;  nor  some 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  107 

title-page  authors,  who  promise  a  great  deal  and 
produce  nothing  at  all. 

There  are,  besides  these  more  obvious  benefits, 
several  others  which  our  readers  enjoy  from  this 
art  of  dividing ;  though  perhaps  most  of  them  too 
mysterious  to  be  presently  understood  by  any  who 
are  not  initiated  into  the  science  of  authoring. 
To  mention,  therefore,  but  one  which  is  most  ob- 
vious, it  prevents  spoiling  the  beauty  of  a  book  by 
turning  down  its  leaves,  a  method  otherwise 
necessary  to  those  readers  who  (though  they  read 
with  great  improvement  and  advantage)  are  apt, 
when  they  return  to  their  study  after  half-an- 
hour's  absence,  to  forget  where  they  left  off. 

These  divisions  have  the  sanction  of  great  an- 
tiquity. Homer  not  only  divided  his  great  work 
into  twenty-four  books  (in  compliment  perhaps  to 
the  twenty-four  letters  to  which  he  had  very  par- 
ticular obligations),  but,  according  to  the  opinion 
of  some  very  sagacious  critics,  hawked  them  all 
separately,  delivering  only  one  book  at  a  time 
(probably  by  subscription).  He  was  the  first  in- 
ventor of  the  art  which  hath  so  long  lain  dormant, 
of  publishing  by  numbers;  and  art  now  brought 
to  such  perfection,  that  even  dictionaries  are  di- 
vided and  exhibited  piecemeal  to  the  public;  nay, 
one  bookseller  hath  (to  encourage  learning  and 
ease  the  public)  contrived  to  give  them  a  diction- 
ary in  this  divided  manner  for  only  fifteen  shil- 
lings more  than  it  would  have  cost  entire. 

Virgil  hath  given  us  his  poem  in  twelve  books,  an 
argument  of  his  modesty;  for  by  that,  doubtless, 
he  would  insinuate  that  he  pretends  to  no  more 


108  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

than  half  the  merit  of  the  Greek;  for  the  same 
reason,  our  Milton  went  originally  no  farther  than 
ten;  till,  being  puffed  up  by  the  praise  of  his 
friends,  he  put  himself  on  the  same  footing  with 
the  Roman  poet. 

I  shall  not,  however,  enter  so  deep  into  this 
matter  as  some  very  learned  critics  have  done; 
who  have  with  infinite  labor  and  acute  discern- 
ment discovered  what  books  are  proper  for  em- 
bellishment, and  what  require  simplicity  only, 
particularly  with  regard  to  similes,  which  I  think 
are  now  generally  agreed  to  become  any  book  but 
the  first. 

I  will  dismiss  this  chapter  with  the  following 
observation:  that  it  becomes  an  author  generally 
to  divide  a  book,  as  it  does  a  butcher  to  n'oint  his 
meat,  for  such  assistance  is  of  great  help  to  both 
the  reader  and  the  carver.  And  now,  having  in- 
dulged myself  a  little,  I  will  endeavor  to  indulge 
the  curiosity  of  my  reader,  who  is  no  doubt  im- 
patient to  know  what  he  will  find  in  the  subse- 
quent chapters  of  this  book. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  surprising  instance  of  Mr.  Adams's  short  memory,  with  the 
unfortmiate  consequences  which  it  brought  on  Joseph. 

ME.  ADAMS  and  Joseph  were  now  ready 
to  depart  different  ways,  when  an  acci- 
dent determined  the  former  to  return 
with  his  friend,  which  Tow-wouse,  Barnabas,  and 
the  bookseller  had  not  been  able  to  do.  This  ac- 
cident was,  that  those  sermons,  which  the  parson 
was  traveling  to  London  to  publish,  were,  0  my 
good  reader!  left  behind;  what  he  had  mistaken 
for  them  in  the  saddlebags  being  no  other  than 
three  shirts,  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  some  other 
necessaries,  which  Mrs.  Adams,  who  thought  her 
husband  would  want  shirts  more  than  sermons 
on  his  journey,  had  carefully  provided  him. 

This  discovery  was  now  luckily  owing  to  the 
presence  of  Joseph  at  the  opening  the  saddle- 
bags ;  who,  having  heard  his  friend  say  he  carried 
with  him  nine  volumes  of  sermons,  and  not  being 
of  that  sect  of  philosophers  who  can  reduce  all  the 
matter  of  the  world  into  a  nutshell,  seeing  there 
was  no  room  for  them  in  the  bags,  where  the  par- 
son had  said  they  were  deposited,  had  the  curios- 
ity to  cry  out,  "Bless  me,  sir,  where  are  your  ser- 
mons?" The  parson  answered,  "There,  there, 
child;  there  they  are,  under  my  shirts."  Now  it 
happened  that  he  had  taken  forth  his  last  shirt, 

109 


110  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

and  the  vehicle  remained  visibly  empty.  ''Sure, 
sir,"  says  Josei^h,  "there  is  nothing  in  the  bags." 
Upon  which  Adams,  starting,  and  testifying  some 
surprise,  cried,  ''Hey!  fie,  fie  upon  it!  they  are 
not  here  sure  enough.  Ay,  they  are  certainly 
left  behind." 

Joseph  was  greatly  concerned  at  the  uneasi- 
ness which  he  apprehended  his  friend  must  feel 
from  this  disappointment ;  he  begged  him  to  pur- 
sue his  journey,  and  promised  he  would  himself 
return  with  the  books  to  him  with  the  utmost  ex- 
pedition. "No,  thank  you,  child,"  answered 
Adams;  "it  shall  not  be  so.  What  would  it  avail 
me,  to  tarry  in  the  great  city,  unless  I  had  my  dis- 
courses with  me,  which  are  ut  ita  dicam,  the  sole 
cause,  the  aitia  monotate  of  my  peregrination? 
No,  child,  as  this  accident  hath  happened,  I  am  re- 
solved to  return  back  to  my  cure,  together  with 
you ;  which  indeed  my  inclination  sufficiently  leads 
me  to.  This  disappointment  may  perhaps  be  in- 
tended for  my  good."  He  concluded  with  a  verse 
out  of  Theocritus,  which  signifies  no  more  than 
that  sometimes  it  rains,  and  sometimes  the  sun 
shines. 

Joseph  bowed  with  obedience  and  thankfulness 
for  the  inclination  which  the  parson  expressed  of 
returning  with  him;  and  now  the  bill  was  called 
for,  which,  on  examination,  amounted  within  a  shil- 
ling to  the  sum  Mr.  Adams  had  in  his  pocket. 
Perhaps  the  reader  may  wonder  how  he  was  able 
to  produce  a  sufficient  sum  for  so  many  days:  that 
he  may  not  be  surprised,  therefore,  it  cannot  be 
unnecessary  to   acquaint  him  that  he  had  bor- 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  111 

rowed  a  guinea  of  a  servant  belonging  to  the  coach 
and  six,  who  had  been  formerly  one  of  his  parish- 
ioners, and  whose  master,  the  owner  of  the  coach, 
then  lived  within  three  miles  of  him ;  for  so  good 
was  the  credit  of  Mr.  Adams,  that  evem  Mr.  Peter, 
the  Lady  Booby's  steward,  would  have  lent  him 
a  guinea  with  very  little  security. 

Mr.  Adams  discharged  the  bill,  and  they  were 
both  setting  out,  having  agreed  to  ride  and  tie ;  a 
method  of  traveling  much  used  by  persons  who 
have  but  one  horse  between  them,  and  is  thus 
performed.  The  two  travelers  set  out  together, 
one  on  horseback,  the  other  on  foot:  now,  as  it 
generally  happens  that  he  on  horseback  out-goes 
him  on  foot,  the  custom  is,  that,  when  he  arrives 
at  the  distance  agreed  on,  he  is  to  dismount,  tie 
the  horse  to  some  gat«,  tree,  post,  or  other  thing, 
and  then  proceed  on  foot;  when  the  other  comes 
up  to  the  horse  he  unties  him,  mounts,  and  gallops 
on,  till,  having  j^assed  by  his  fellow-traveler,  he 
likewise  arrives  at  the  place  of  tying.  And  this 
is  that  method  of  traveling  so  much  in  use  among 
our  prudent  ancestors,  who  knew  that  horses  had 
mouths  as  well  as  legs,  and  that  they  could  not 
use  the  latter  without  being  at  the  expense  of 
suffering  the  beasts  themselves  to  use  the  former. 
This  was  the  method  in  use  in  those  days  when, 
instead  of  a  coach  and  six,  a  member  of  parlia- 
ment's lady  used  to  mount  a  pillion  behind  her 
husband;  and  a  grave  sergeant  at  law  conde- 
scended to  amble  to  "Westminster  on  an  easy  pad, 
with  his  clerk  kicking  his  heels  behind  him. 

Adams  was  now  gone  some  minutes,  having  in- 


112  THE  HISTORY  OF 

sisted  on  Joseph's  beginning  the  journey  on  horse- 
back, and  Joseph  had  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  when 
the  hostler  presented  him  a  bill  for  the  horse's 
board  during  his  residence  at  the  inn.  Joseph 
said  Mr.  Adams  had  paid  all ;  but  this  matter,  be- 
ing referred  to  Mr.  Tow-woiise,  was  by  him  de- 
cided in  favor  of  the  hostler,  and  indeed  with 
truth  and  justice ;  for  this  was  a  fresh  instance  of 
that  shortness  of  memory  which  did  not  arise 
from  want  of  parts,  but  that  continual  hurry  in 
which  parson  Adams  was  always  involved. 

Joseph  was  now  reduced  to  a  dilemma  which  ex- 
tremely puzzled  him.  The  sum  due  for  horse- 
meat  was  twelve  shillings  (for  Adams,  who  had 
borrowed  the  beast  of  his  clerk,  had  ordered  him 
to  be  fed  as  well  as  they  could  feed  him),  and  the 
cash  in  his  pocket  amounted  to  sixpence  (for 
Adams  had  divided  the  last  shilling  with  him). 
Now,  though  there  have  been  some  ingenious  per- 
sons who  have  contrived  to  pay  twelve  shillings 
with  sixpence,  Joseph  was  not  one  of  them.  He 
had  never  contracted  a  debt  in  his  life,  and  was 
consequently  the  less  ready  at  an  expedient  to  ex- 
tricate himself.  Tow-wouse  was  willing  to  give 
him  credit  till  next  time,  to  which  Mrs.  Tow-wouse 
would  probably  have  consented  (for  such  was 
Joseph's  beauty,  that  it  had  made  some  impres- 
sion, even  on  that  piece  of  flint  which  that  good 
woman  wore  in  her  bosom  by  way  of  heart). 
Joseph  would  have  found,  therefore,  very  likely 
the  passage  free,  had  he  not,  when  he  honestly  dis- 
covered the  nakedness  of  his  pockets,  pulled  out 
that  little  piece  of  gold  which  we  have  mentioned 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  113 

before.  This  caused  Mrs.  Tow-wouse's  eyes  to 
water;  she  told  Joseph  she  did  not  conceive  a 
man  could  want  money  whilst  he  had  gold  in  his 
pocket.  Joseph  answered  he  had  such  a  value  for 
that  little  piece  of  gold,  that  he  would  not  part 
with  it  for  a  hundred  times  the  riches  which  the 
greatest  esquire  in  the  county  was  worth.  '*A 
pretty  way,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Tow-wouse,  "to 
run  in  debt,  and  then  refuse  to  part  with  your 
money,  because  you  have  a  value  for  it !  I  never 
knew  any  piece  of  gold  of  more  value  than  as 
many  shillings  as  it  would  change  for." — ''Not 
to  jDreserve  my  life  from  starving,  nor  to  redeem 
it  from  a  robber,  would  I  part  with  this  dear 
piece!"  answered  Joseph.  "What,"  says  Mrs. 
Tow-wouse,  "I  suppose  it  was  given  you  by  some 
vile  trollop,  some  miss  or  other ;  if  it  had  been  the 
present  of  a  virtuous  woman,  you  would  not  have 
had  such  a  value  for  it.  My  husband  is  a  fool  if 
he  parts  with  the  horse  without  being  paid  for 
him." — "No,  no,  I  can't  part  with  the  horse,  in- 
deed, till  I  have  the  money,"  cried  Tow-wouse. 
A  resolution  highly  commended  by  a  lawyer  then 
in  the  yard,  who  declared  Mr.  Tow-wouse  might 
justify  the  detainer. 

As  we  cannot  therefore  at  present  get  Mr.  Jo- 
seph out  of  the  inn,  we  shall  leave  him  in  it,  and 
carry  our  reader  on  after  parson  Adams,  who, 
his  mind  being  j^erfectly  at  ease,  fell  into  a  con- 
templation on  a  passage  in  ^schylus,  which  en- 
tertained him  for  three  miles  together,  without 
suffering  him  once  to  reflect  on  his  fellow-traveler. 

At  length,  having  spun  out  his  thread,  and  be- 

1—8 


114  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

ing  now  at  the  summit  of  a  hill,  he  cast  his  eyes 
backwards,  and  wondered  that  he  could  not  see 
any  sign  of  Joseph.  As  he  left  him  ready  to  mount 
the  horse,  he  could  not  apprehend  any  mischief 
had  happened,  neither  could  he  suspect  that  he 
missed  his  way,  it  being  so  broad  and  plain;  the 
only  reason  which  presented  itself  to  him  was, 
that  he  had  met  with  an  acquaintance  who  had 
prevailed  with  him  to  delay  some  time  in  dis- 
course. 

He  therefore  resolved  to  proceed  slowly  for- 
wards, not  doubting  but  that  he  should  be  shortly 
overtaken ;  and  soon  came  to  a  large  water,  which 
filling  the  whole  road,  he  saw  no  method  of  pass- 
ing unless  by  wading  through,  which  he  accord- 
ingly did  up  to  his  middle ;  but  was  no  sooner  got 
to  the  other  side  than  he  perceived,  if  he  had  looked 
over  the  hedge,  he  would  have  found  a  footpath 
capable  of  conducting  him  without  wetting  his 
shoes. 

His  surprise  at  Joseph's  not  coming  up  grew 
now  very  troublesome:  he  began  to  fear  he  knew 
not  what;  and  as  he  determined  to  move  no 
farther,  and,  if  he  did  not  shortly  overtake  him, 
to  return  back,  he  wished  to  find  a  house  of  public 
entertainment  where  he  might  dry  his  clothes  and 
refresh  himself  with  a  pint;  but,  seeing  no  such 
(for  no  other  reason  than  because  he  did  not  cast 
his  eyes  a  hundred  yards  forwards),  he  sat  him- 
self down  on  a  stile,  and  pulled  out  his  ^schylus. 

A  fellow  passing  presently  by,  Adams  asked 
Mm  if  he  could  direct  him  to  an  alehouse.  The 
fellow,  who  had  just  left  it,  and  perceived  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  115 

house  and  sign  to  be  within  sight,  thinking  he  had 
jeered  him,  and  being  of  a  morose  temper,  bade 
him  follow  his  nose  and  be  d — n'd.  Adams  told 
him  he  was  a  saucy  jackanapes;  upon  which 
the  fellow  turned  about  angrily;  but,  perceiving 
Adams  clench  his  fist,  he  thought  proper  to  go  on 
without  taking  any  farther  notice. 

A  horseman,  following  immediately  after,  and 
being  asked  the  same  question,  answered, 
"Friend,  there  is  one  within  a  stone's  throw;  I 
believe  you  may  see  it  before  you."  Adams  lift- 
ing up  his  eyes,  cried,  "I  protest,  and  so  there 
is;"  and,  thanking  his  informer,  proceeded  di- 
rectly to  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

The  opinion  of  two  lawyers  concerning  the  same  gentleman, 
with  Mr,  Adams's  inquiiy  into  the  religion  of  his  host. 

HE  had  just  entered  the  house,  and  called 
for  his  pint,  and  seated  himself,  when  two 
horsemen  came  to  the  door,  and,  fasten- 
ing their  horses  to  the  rails,  alighted.  They  said 
there  was  a  violent  shower  of  rain  coming  on, 
which  they  intended  to  weather  there,  and  went 
into  a  little  room  by  themselves,  not  perceiving 
Mr.  Adams. 

One  of  these  immediately  asked  the  other,  "If 
he  had  seen  a  more  comical  adventure  a  gi'eat 
while  ? ' '  Upon  which  the  other  said, ' '  He  doubted 
whether,  by  law,  the  landlord  could  justify  detain- 
ing the  horse  for  his  corn  and  hay."  But  the 
former  answered,  "Undoubtedly  he  can;  it  is  an 
adjudged  ease,  and  I  have  known  it  tried." 

Adams,  who,  though  he  was,  as  the  reader  may 
suspect,  a  little  inclined  to  forgetfulness,  never 
wanted  more  than  a  hint  to  remind  him,  overhear- 
ing their  discourse,  immediately  suggested  to  him- 
self that  this  was  his  own  horse,  and  that  he  had 
forgot  to  pay  for  him,  which,  upon  inquiry,  he 
was  certified  of  by  the  gentlemen;  who  added,  that 
the  horse  was  likely  to  have  more  rest  than  food, 
unless  he  was  paid  for. 

116 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  117 

The  poor  parson  resolved  to  return  presently  to 
the  inn,  though  he  knew  no  more  than  Joseph 
how  to  procure  his  horse  his  liberty ;  he  was,  how- 
ever, prevailed  on  to  stay  under  covert,  till  the 
shower,  which  was  now  very  violent,  was  over. 

The  three  travelers  them  sat  down  together  over 
a  mug  of  good  beer;  when  Adams,  who  had  ob- 
served a  gentleman's  house  as  he  passed  along  the 
road,  inquired  to  whom  it  belonged;  one  of  the 
horsemen  had  no  sooner  mentioned  the  owner's 
name,  than  the  other  began  to  revile  him  in  the 
most  opprobrious  terms.  The  English  language 
scarce  affords  a  single  reproachful  word,  which 
he  did  not  vent  on  this  occasion.  He  charged 
him  likewise  with  many  particular  facts.  He 
said,  ''He  no  more  regarded  a  field  of  wheat  when 
he  was  hunting,  than  he  did  the  highway ;  that  he 
had  injured  several  poor  farmers  by  trampling 
their  corn  under  his  horse's  heels;  and  if  any  of 
them  begged  him  with  the  utmost  submission  to 
refrain,  his  horsewhip  was  always  ready  to  do 
them  justice."  He  said,  ''That  he  was  the  great- 
est tyrant  to  the  neighbors  in  every  other  instance, 
and  would  not  suffer  a  farmer  to  keep  a  gun, 
though  he  might  justify  it  by  law ;  and  in  his  own 
family  so  cruel  a  master,  that  he  never  kept  a 
servant  a  twelvemonth.  In  his  capacity  as  a  just- 
ice," continued  he,  "he  behaves  so  partially,  that 
he  commits  or  acquits  just  as  he  is  in  the  humor, 
without  any  regard  to  truth  or  evidence;  the 
devil  may  carry  any  one  before  him  for  me;  I 
would  rather  be  tried  before  some  judges,  than  be 


118  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

a  prosecutor  before  liim :  if  I  had  an  estate  in  the 
neighborhood,  I  would  sell  it  for  half  the  value 
rather  than  live  near  him." 

Adams  shook  his  head,  and  said,  ''He  was  sorry- 
such  men  were  suffered  to  proceed  with  impunity, 
and  that  riches  could  set  any  man  above  the  law." 
The  reviler,  a  little  after,  retiring  into  the  yard, 
the  gentleman  who  had  first  mentioned  his  name 
to  Adams  began  to  assure  him  "that  his  com- 
panion was  a  prejudiced  person.  It  is  true," 
says  he,  "perhaps,  that  he  may  have  sometimes 
pursued  his  game  over  a  field  of  corn,  but  he  hath 
always  made  the  party  ample  satisfaction:  that 
so  far  from  tyrannizing  over  his  neighbors,  or 
taking  away  their  guns,  he  himself  knew  several 
farmers  not  qualified,  who  not  only  kept  guns, 
but  killed  game  with  them;  that  he  was  the 
best  of  masters  to  his  servants,  and  several  of 
them  had  grown  old  in  his  service;  that  he  was 
the  best  justice  of  peace  in  the  kingdom,  and,  to 
his  certain  knowledge,  had  decided  many  difficult 
points,  which  were  referred  to  him,  with  the  great- 
est equity  and  the  highest  wisdom ;  and  he  verily 
believed,  several  persons  would  give  a  year's  pur- 
chase more  for  an  estate  near  him,  than  under  the 
wings  of  any  other  great  man."  He  had  just 
finished  his  encomium  when  his  companion  re- 
turned and  acquainted  him  the  storm  was  over. 
Upon  which  they  presently  mounted  their  horses 
and  departed. 

Adams,  who  was  in  the  utmost  anxiety  at  those 
different  characters  of  the  same  person,  asked 
his  host  if  he  knew  the  gentleman:  for  he  began 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  119 

to  imagine  they  had  by  mistake  been  speaking  of 
two  several  gentlemen.  "No,  no,  master,"  an- 
swered the  host  (a  shrewd,  cunning  fellow):  "I 
know  the  gentleman  very  well  of  whom  they  have 
been  speaking,  as  I  do  the  gentleman  who  spoke  of 
him.  As  for  riding  over  other  men's  corn,  to  my 
knowledge  he  hath  not  been  on  horseback  these 
two  years.  I  never  heard  he  did  any  injury  of 
that  kind;  and  as  to  making  reparation,  he  is  not 
so  free  of  his  money  as  that  comes  to  neither. 
Nor  did  I  ever  hear  of  his  taking  away  any  man's 
gun;  nay,  I  know  several  who  have  guns  in  their 
houses;  but  as  for  killing  game  with  them,  no 
man  is  stricter;  and  I  believe  he  would  ruin  any 
who  did.  You  heard  one  of  the  gentlemen  say 
he  was  the  worst  master  in  the  world,  and  the 
other  that  he  is  the  best;  but  for  my  own  part,  I 
know  all  his  servants,  and  never  heard  from  any 
of  them  that  he  was  either  one  or  the  other." — 
''Aye!  aye!"  says  Adams;  "and  how  doth  he 
behave  as  a  justice,  pray?" — "Faith,  friend," 
answered  the  host,  "I  question  whether  he  is 
in  the  commission;  the  only  cause  I  have  heard 
he  hath  decided  a  great  while,  was  one  between 
those  very  two  persons  who  just  went  out  of  this 
house;  and  I  am  sure  he  determined  that  justly, 
for  I  heard  the  whole  matter." — "Which  did  he 
decide  it  in  favor  of?"  quoth  Adams. — "I  think 
I  need  not  answer  that  question,"  cried  the  host, 
"after  the  different  characters  you  have  heard 
of  him.  It  is  not  my  business  to  contradict  gen- 
tlemen while  they  are  drinking  in  my  house;  but 
I  knew  neither  of  them  spoke  a  syllable  of  truth." 


120  THE  HISTORY  OF 

— *'God  forbid!"  said  Adams,  '^that  men  should 
arrive  at  such  a  pitch  of  wickedness  to  belie  the 
character  of  their  neighbor  from  a  little  private 
affection,  or,  what  is  infinitely  worse  a  private 
spite.  I  rather  believe  we  have  mistaken  them, 
and  they  mean  two  other  persons;  for  there  are 
many  houses  on  the  road." — ''Why,  prithee, 
friend,"  cries  the  host,  *'dost  thou  pretend  never 
to  have  told  a  lie  in  thy  life?" — "Never  a  ma- 
licious one,  I  am  certain,"  answered  Adams,  ''nor 
with  a  design  to  injure  the  reputation  of  any  man 
living." — "Pugh!  malicious;  no,  no,"  replied  the 
host;  "not  malicious  with  a  design  to  hang  a  man, 
or  bring  him  into  trouble ;  but  surely,  out  of  love 
to  oneself,  one  must  speak  better  of  a  friend  than 
an  enemy." — "Out  of  love  to  yourself,  you  should 
confine  yourself  to  truth,"  says  Adams,  "for  by 
doing  otherwise  you  injure  the  noblest  part  of 
yourself,  your  immortal  soul.  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve any  man  such  an  idiot  to  risk  the  loss  of  that 
by  any  trifling  gain,  and  the  greatest  gain  in  this 
world  is  but  dirt  in  comparison  of  what  shall  be 
revealed  hereafter."  Upon  which  the  host,  tak- 
ing up  the  cup,  with  a  smile,  drank  a  health  to 
hereafter;  adding,  "He  was  for  something  pres- 
ent."— "Why,"  says  Adams  very  gravely,  "do 
not  you  believe  another  world?"  To  which  the 
host  answered,  "Yes;  he  was  no  atheist." — "And 
you  believe  you  have  an  immortal  soul?"  cries 
Adams.  He  answered,  "God  forbid  he  should 
not." — "And  heaven  and  hell?"  said  the  parson. 
The  host  then  bid  him  ' '  not  to  profane ;  for  those 
were  things  not  to  be  mentioned  nor  thought  of 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  121 

but  In  church."  Adams  asked  him,  ''Whj^  he 
went  to  church,  if  what  he  learned  there  had  no 
influence  on  his  conduct  in  life!"  ''I  go  to 
church,"  answered  the  host,  *'to  say  my  prayers 
and  behave  godly." — "And  dost  not  thou,"  cried 
Adams,  "believe  what  thou  hearest  at  church?" 
— "Most  part  of  it,  master,"  returned  the  host. 
"And  dost  not  thou  then  tremble,"  cries  Adams, 
"at  the  thought  of  eternal  punishment?" — "As 
for  that,  master,"  said  he,  "I  never  once  thought 
about  it ;  but  what  signifies  talking  about  matters 
so  far  off?  The  mug  is  out,  shall  I  draw  an- 
other?" 

Whilst  he  was  going  for  that  purpose  a  stage- 
coach drove  up  to  the  door.  The  coachman  com- 
ing into  the  house  was  asked  by  the  mistress  what 
passengers  he  had  in  his  coach?  "A  parcel  of 
squinny-gut  h — s, ' '  says  he ;  "I  have  a  good  mind 
to  overturn  them;  you  won't  prevail  upon  them  to 
drink  anything,  I  assure  you."  Adams  asked 
him,  "If  he  had  not  seen  a  young  man  on  horse- 
back on  the  road"  (describing  Joseph).  "Aye," 
said  the  coachman,  "a  gentlewoman  in  my  coach 
that  is  his  acquaintance  redeemed  him  and  his 
horse;  he  would  have  been  here  before  this  time, 
had  not  the  storm  driven  him  to  shelter."  "God 
bless  her!"  said  Adams,  in  a  rapture;  nor  could 
he  delay  walking  out  to  satisfy  himself  who  this 
charitable  woman  was ;  but  what  was  his  surprise 
when  he  saw  his  old  acquaintance.  Madam  Slip- 
slop? Hers  indeed  was  not  so  great,  because  she 
had  been  informed  by  Joseph  that  he  was  on  the 
road.    Very  civil  were  the   salutations  on  both 


122  THE  HISTORY  OF 

sides;  and  Mrs.  Slipslop  rebuked  the  hostess  for 
denying  the  gentleman  to  be  there  "when  she  asked 
for  him ;  but  indeed  the  poor  woman  had  not  erred 
designedly;  for  Mrs.  Slipslop  asked  for  a  clergy- 
man, and  she  had  unhappily  mistakem  Adams  for 
a  person  traveling  to  a  neighboring  fair  with  the 
thimble  and  button,  or  some  other  such  operation ; 
for  he  marched  in  a  swinging  great  but  short 
white  coat  with  black  buttons,  a  short  wig,  and  a 
hat  which,  so  far  from  having  a  black  hatband, 
had  nothing  black  about  it. 

Joseph  was  now  come  up,  and  Mrs.  Slipslop 
would  have  had  him  quit  his  horse  to  the  parson, 
and  come  himself  into  the  coach ;  but  he  absolutely 
refused,  saying,  he  thanked  Heaven  he  was  well 
enough  recovered  to  be  very  able  to  ride;  and 
added,  he  hoped  he  knew  his  duty  better  than  to 
ride  in  a  coach  while  Mr.  Adams  was  on  horse- 
back. 

Mrs.  Slipslop  would  have  persisted  longer,  had 
not  a  lady  in  the  coach  put  a  short  end  to  the  dis- 
pute, by  refusing  to  suffer  a  fellow  in  a  livery  to 
ride  in  the  same  coach  with  herself;  so  it  was  at 
length  agreed  that  Adams  should  fill  the  vacant 
place  in  the  coach,  and  Josej^h  should  proceed  on 
horseback. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  before  Mrs.  Slip- 
slop, addressing  herself  to  the  parson,  spoke  thus : 
— ''There  hath  been  a  strange  alteration  in  our 
family,  ]\Ir.  Adams,  since  Sir  Thomas's  death." 
"A  strange  alteration  indeed,"  says  Adams,  "as 
I  gather  from  some  hints  which  have  dropped 
from  Joseph." — ''Aye,"  says  she,  "I  could  never 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  123 

have  believed  it;  but  the  longer  one  lives  in  the 
world,  the  more  one  sees.  So  Joseph  hath  given 
you  hints."  ''But  of  what  nature  will  always 
remain  a  perfect  secret  with  me,"  cries  the  par- 
son: ''he  forced  me  to  promise  before  he  would 
communicate  anything.  I  am  indeed  concerned 
to  find  her  ladyship  behave  in  so  unbecoming  a 
manner.  I  always  thought  her  in  the  main  a  good 
lady,  and  should  never  have  suspected  her  of 
thoughts  so  unworthy  a  Christian,  and  with  a 
young  lad  her  own  servant."  "These  things  are 
no  secrets  to  me,  I  assure  you,"  cries  Slipslop, 
' '  and  I  believe  they  will  be  none  anywhere  shortly ; 
for  ever  since  the  boy's  departure,  she  hath  be- 
haved more  like  a  mad  woman  than  anything 
else."  "Truly,  I  am  heartily  concerned,"  says 
Adams,  "for  she  was  a  good  sort  of  a  lady.  In- 
deed, I  have  often  wished  she  had  attended  a  lit- 
tle more  constantly  at  the  service,  but  she  hath 
done  a  great  deal  of  good  in  the  parish."  "0 
Mr.  Adams,"  says  Slipslop,  "people  that  don't 
see  all,  often  know  nothing.  Many  things  have 
been  given  away  in  our  family,  I  do  assure  you, 
without  her  knowledge.  I  have  heard  you  say  in 
the  pulpit  we  ought  not  to  brag ;  but  indeed  I  can't 
avoid  saying,  if  she  had  kept  the  keys  herself,  the 
poor  would  have  wanted  many  a  cordial  which  I 
have  let  them  have.  As  for  my  late  master,  he 
was  as  worthy  a  man  as  ever  lived,  and  would 
have  done  infinite  good  if  he  had  not  been  con- 
trolled ;  but  he  loved  a  quiet  life.  Heaven  rest  his 
soul!  I  am  confident  he  is  there,  and  enjoys  a 
quiet  life,  which  some  folks  would  not  allow  him 


124  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

here." — Adams  answered,  ''He  had  never  heard 
this  before,  and  was  mistaken  if  she  herself  (for 
he  remembered  she  used  to  commend  her  mistress 
and  blame  her  master)  had  not  formerly  been  of 
another  opinion."  "I  don't  know,"  replied  she, 
**what  I  might  once  think;  but  now  I  am  confidous 
matters  are  as  I  tell  you;  the  world  will  shortly 
see  who  hath  been  deceived;  for  my  part,  I 
say  nothing,  but  that  it  is  wondersome  how  some 
people  can  carry  all  things  with  a  grave  face." 

Thus  Mr.  Adams  and  she  discoursed,  till  they 
came  opposite  to  a  great  house  which  stood  at 
some  distance  from  the  road:  a  lady  in  the  coach, 
spying  it,  cried,  ''Yonder  lives  the  unfortunate 
Leonora,  if  one  can  justly  call  a  woman  unfortu- 
nate whom  we  must  own  at  the  same  time  guilty 
and  the  author  of  her  own  calamity."  This  was 
abundantly  sufficient  to  awaken  the  curiosity  of 
Mr.  Adams,  as  indeed  it  did  that  of  the  whole 
company,  who  jointly  solicited  the  lady  to  acquaint 
them  with  Leonora's  history,  since  it  seemed,  by 
what  she  had  said,  to  contain  something  remark- 
able. 

The  lady,  who  was  perfectly  well-bred,  did  not 
require  many  entreaties,  and  having  only  wished 
their  entertainment  might  make  amends  for  the 
company's  attention,  she  began  in  the  following 
manner. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  history  of  Leonoi'a,  or  the  unfortunate  jilt. 

LEONORA  was  the  daughter  of  a  gentle- 
man of  fortune;  she  was  tall  and  well- 
shaped,  with  a  sprightliness  in  her  coun- 
tenance which  often  attracts,  beyond  more  regular 
features  joined  with  an  insipid  air:  nor  is  this 
kind  of  beauty  less  apt  to  deceive  than  allure; 
the  good  humor  which  it  indicates  being  often 
mistaken  for  good  nature,  and  the  vivacity  for 
true  understanding. 

Leonora,  who  was  now  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
lived  with  an  aunt  of  hers  in  a  town  in  the  north 
of  England.  She  was  an  extreme  lover  of 
gayety,  and  very  rarely  missed  a  ball  or  any 
other  public  assembly;  where  she  had  frequent 
opportunities  of  satisfying  a  greedy  appetite  of 
vanity,  with  the  preference  which  was  given  her 
by  the  men  to  almost  every  other  woman  present. 

Among  many  young  fellows  who  were  partic- 
ular in  their  gallantries  towards  her,  Horatio 
soon  distinguished  himself  in  her  eyes  beyond  all 
his  competitors;  she  danced  with  more  than  or- 
dinary gayety  when  he  happened  to  be  her  part- 
ner; neither  the  fairness  of  the  evening,  nor  the 
music  of  the  nightingale,  could  lengthen  her  walk 
like  his  company.  She  affected  no  longer  to  un- 
derstand the  civilities  of  others;  whilst  she  in- 

125 


126  TPIE  HISTORY  OF 

dined  so  attentive  an  ear  to  every  compliment  of 
Horatio,  that  she  often  smiled  even  when  it  was 
too  delicate  for  her  comprehension. 

"Pray,  madam,"  says  Adams,  **who  was  this 
squire  Horatio?" 

Horatio,  says  the  lady,  was  a  young  gentleman 
of  a  good  family,  bred  to  the  law,  and  had  been 
some  ferw  years  called  to  the  degree  of  a  barrister. 
His  face  and  person  were  such  as  the  generality 
allowed  handsome;  but  he  had  a  dignity  in  his 
air  very  rarely  to  be  seen.  His  temper  was  of 
the  saturnine  complexion,  and  without  the  least 
taint  of  moroseness.  He  had  wit  and  humor,  with 
an  inclination  to  satire,  which  he  indulged  rather 
too  much. 

This  gentleman,  who  had  contracted  the  most 
violent  passion  for  Leonora,  was  the  last  person 
who  perceived  the  probability  of  its  success.  The 
whole  town  had  made  the  match  for  him  before  he 
himself  had  drawn  a  confidence  from  her  actions 
sufficient  to  mention  his  passion  to  her ;  for  it  was 
his  opinion  (and  perhaps  he  was  there  in  the 
right)  that  it  is  highly  impolitic  to  talk  seriously 
of  love  to  a  woman  before  you  have  made  such  a 
progress  in  her  affections,  that  she  herself  ex- 
pects and  desires  to  hear  it. 

But  whatever  diffidence  the  fears  of  a  lover  may 
create,  which  are  apt  to  magnify  every  favor  con- 
ferred on  a  rival,  and  to  see  the  little  advances  to- 
wards themselves  through  the  other  end  of  the 
perspective,  it  was  impossible  that  Horatio's  pas- 
sion should  so  blind  his  discernment  as  to  prevent 
his  conceiving  hopes  from  the  behavior  of  Leo- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  127 

nora,  whose  fondness  for  him  was  now  as  visible 
to  an  indifferent  person  in  their  company  as  his 
for  her. 

*'I  never  knew  any  of  these  forward  sluts 
come  to  good"  (says  the  lady  who  refused 
Joseph's  entrance  into  the  coach),  *'nor  shall  I 
wonder  at  anything  she  doth  in  the  sequel." 

The  lady  proceeded  in  her  story  thus:  It  was 
in  the  midst  of  a  gay  conversation  in  the  walks 
one  evening,  when  Horatio  whispered  Leonora, 
that  he  was  desirous  to  take  a  turn  or  two  with 
her  in  private,  for  that  he  had  something  to  com- 
municate to  her  of  great  consequence.  "Are  you 
sure  it  is  of  consequence?"  said  she,  smiling.  ''I 
hope,"  answered  he,  "you  will  think  so  too,  since 
the  whole  future  happiness  of  my  life  must  de- 
pend on  the  event." 

Leonora,  who  very  much  suspected  what  was 
coming,  would  have  deferred  it  till  another  time ; 
but  Horatio,  who  had  more  than  half  conquered 
the  difficulty  of  speaking  by  the  first  motion,  was 
so  very  importunate,  that  she  at  last  yielded,  and, 
leaving  the  rest  of  the  company,  they  turned  aside 
into  an  unfrequented  walk. 

They  had  retired  far  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
company,  both  maintaining  a  strict  silence.  At 
last  Horatio  made  a  full  stop,  and  taking  Leo- 
nora, who  stood  pale  and  trembling,  gently  by  the 
hand,  he  fetched  a  deep  sigh,  and  then,  looking  on 
her  eyes  with  all  the  tenderness  imaginable,  he 
cried  out  in  a  faltering  accent,  "0  Leonora!  is 
it  necessary  for  me  to  declare  to  you  on  what  the 
future  happiness  of  my  life  must  be  founded? 


128  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Must  I  say  there  is  something  belonging  to  yon 
which  is  a  bar  to  my  happiness,  and  which  unless 
you  will  part  with,  I  must  be  miserable!" — 
"What  can  that  be  I"  replied  Leonora.  "No 
wonder,"  said  he,  "you  are  surprised  that  I 
should  make  an  objection  to  anything  which  is 
yours ;  yet  sure  you  may  guess,  since  it  is  the  only 
one  which  the  riches  of  the  world,  if  they  were 
mine,  should  purchase  for  me.  Oh,  it  is  that 
which  you  must  part  with  to  bestow  all  the 
rest!  Can  Leonora,  or  rather  will  she,  doubt 
longer?  Let  me  then  whisper  it  in  her  ears — It  is 
your  name,  madam.  It  is  by  parting  with  that, 
by  your  condescension  to  be  for  ever  mine,  which 
must  at  once  prevent  me  from  being  the  most 
miserable,  and  will  render  me  the  happiest  of 
mankind." 

Leonora,  covered  with  blushes,  and  with  as 
angry  a  look  as  she  could  possibly  put  on,  told 
him,  "That  had  she  suspected  what  his  declara- 
tion would  have  been,  he  should  not  have  decoyed 
her  from  her  company,  that  he  had  so  surprised 
and  frightened  her,  that  she  begged  him  to  convey 
her  back  as  quick  as  possible;"  which  he,  trem- 
bling very  near  as  much  as  herself,  did. 

"More  fool  he,"  cried  Slipslop;  "it  is  a  sign 
he  knew  very  little  of  our  sect." — "Truly, 
madam,"  said  Adams,  "I  think  you  are  in  the 
right:  I  should  have  insisted  to  know  a  piece  of 
her  mind,  when  I  had  carried  matters  so  far." 
But  Mrs.  Grave-airs  desired  the  lady  to  omit  all 
such  fulsome  stuff  in  her  story,  for  that  it  made 
her   sick. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  129 

Well  then,  madam,  to  be  as  concise  as  possible, 
said  the  lady,  many  weeks  had  not  passed  after 
this  interview  before  Horatio  and  Leonora  were 
what  they  call  on  a  good  footing  together.  All 
ceremonies  except  the  last  were  now  over;  the 
writings  were  now  drawn,  and  everything  was  in 
the  utmost  forwardness  preparative  to  the  put- 
ting Horatio  in  possession  of  all  his  wishes.  I 
will,  if  you  please,  repeat  you  a  letter  from  each 
of  them,  which  I  have  got  by  heart,  and  which 
will  give  you  no  small  idea  of  their  passion  on 
both  sides. 

Mrs.  Grave-airs  objected  to  hearing  these  let- 
ters; but  being  put  to  the  vote,  it  was  carried 
against  her  by  all  the  rest  in  the  coach;  parson 
Adams  contending  for  it  with  the  utmost  ve- 
hemence. 

HOBATIO  TO  LEONORA. 

''How  vain,  most  adorable  creature,  is  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure  in  the  absence  of  an  object  to 
which  the  mind  is  entirely  devoted,  unless  it  have 
some  relation  to  that  object!  I  was  last  night 
condemned  to  the  society  of  men  of  wit  and  learn- 
ing, which,  however  agreeable  it  might  have  form- 
erly been  to  me,  now  only  gave  me  a  suspicion 
that  they  imputed  my  absence  in  conversation  to 
the  true  cause.  For  which  reason,  when  your  en- 
gagements forbid  me  the  ecstatic  happiness  of  see- 
ing you,  I  am  always  desirous  to  be  alone;  since 
my  sentiments  for  Leonora  are  so  delicate,  that  I 
cannot  bear  the  apprehension  of  another's  prying 
into  those  delightful  endearments  with  which  the 

1—9 


130  THE  HISTORY  OF 

warm  imagination  of  a  lover  will  sometimes  in- 
dulge him,  and  which  I  suspect  my  eyes  then  be- 
tray. To  fear  this  discovery  of  our  thoughts  may 
perhaps  appear  too  ridiculous  a  nicety  to  minds 
not  susceptible  of  all  the  tendernesses  of  this 
delicate  passion.  And  surely,  we  shall  sus- 
pect there  are  few  such,  when  we  consider  that 
it  requires  every  human  virtue  to  exert  itself  in  its 
full  extent;  since  the  beloved,  whose  happiness  it 
ultimately  respects,  may  give  us  charming  oppor- 
tunities of  being  brave  in  her  defense,  generous  to 
her  wants,  compassionate  to  her  afflictions,  grate- 
ful to  her  kindness;  and  in  the  same  manner,  of 
exercising  every  other  virtue,  which  he  who  would 
not  do  to  any  degree,  and  that  with  the  utmost 
rapture,  can  never  deserve  the  name  of  a  lover. 
It  is,  therefore,  with  a  view  to  the  delicate  mod- 
esty of  your  mind  that  I  cultivate  it  so  purely  in 
my  own ;  and  it  is  that  which  will  sufficiently  sug- 
gest to  you  the  uneasiness  I  bear  from  those  lib- 
erties, which  men  to  whom  the  world  allow  po- 
liteness will  sometimes  give  themselves  on  these 
occasions. 

**Can  I  tell  you  with  what  eagerness  I  expect 
the  arrival  of  that  blessed  day,  when  I  shall  ex- 
perience the  falsehood  of  a  common  assertion, 
that  the  greatest  human  happiness  consists  in 
hope?  A  doctrine  which  no  person  had  ever 
stronger  reason  to  believe  than  myself  at  present, 
since  none  ever  tasted  such  bliss  as  fires  my 
bosom  with  the  thoughts  of  spending  my  future 
days  with  such  a  companion,  and  that  every  action 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  131 

of  my  life  will  have  the  glorious  satisfaction  of 
conducing  to  your  happiness." 

LEONORA   TO    HORATIO.^ 

"The  refinement  of  your  mind  has  been  so  evi- 
dently proved  by  every  word  and  action  ever  since 
I  had  the  first  pleasure  of  knowing  you,  that  I 
thought  it  impossible  my  good  opinion  of  Horatio 
could  have  been  heightened  to  any  additional 
proof  of  merit.  This  very  thought  was  my 
amusement  when  I  received  your  last  letter, 
which,  when  I  opened,  I  confess  I  was  surprised  to 
find  the  delicate  sentiments  expressed  there  so  far 
exceeding  what  I  thought  could  come  even  from 
you  (although  I  know  all  the  generous  principles 
human  nature  is  capable  of  are  centered  in  your 
breast),  that  words  cannot  paint  what  I  feel  on 
the  reflection  that  my  happiness  shall  be  the  ulti- 
mate end  of  all  your  actions. 

"Oh,  Horatio!  what  a  life  must  that  be,  where 
the  meanest  domestic  cares  are  sweetened  by  the 
pleasing  consideration  that  the  man  on  earth  who 
best  deserves,  and  to  whom  you  are  most  inclined 
to  give  your  affections,  is  to  reap  either  profit  or 
pleasure  from  all  you  do!  In  such  a  case  toils 
must  be  turned  into  diversions,  and  nothing  but 
the  unavoidable  inconveniences  of  life  can  make 
us  remember  that  we  are  mortal. 

"If  the  solitary  turn  of  your  thoughts,  and  the 
desire  of  keeping  them  undiscovered,  makes  even 

1  This  letter  was  written  by  a  young  lady  on  reading  the 
former. 


132  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  conversation  of  men  of  wit  and  learning  tedi- 
ous to  you,  what  anxious  hours  must  I  spend,  who 
am  condemned  by  custom  to  the  conversation  of 
women,  whose  natural  curiosity  leads  them  to  pry 
into  all  my  thoughts,  and  whose  envy  can  never 
suffer  Horatio's  heart  to  be  possessed  by  any  one, 
without  forcing  them  into  malicious  designs 
against  the  person  who  is  so  happy  as  to  possess 
it!  But,  indeed,  if  ever  envy  can  possibly  have 
any  excuse,  or  even  alleviation,  it  is  in  this  case, 
where  the  good  is  so  great,  and  it  must  be  equally 
natural  to  all  to  wish  it  for  themselves;  nor  am 
r  ashamed  to  own  it:  and  to  your  merit,  Horatio, 
1  am  obliged,  that  prevents  my  being  in  that  most 
uneasy  of  all  the  situations  I  can  figure  in  my 
imagination,  of  being  led  by  inclination  to  love 
the  person  whom  my  own  judgment  forces  me  to 
condemn." 

Matters  were  in  so  great  forwardness  between 
this  fond  couple,  that  the  day  was  fixed  for  their 
marriage,  and  was  now  within  a  fortnight,  when 
tlie  sessions  chanced  to  be  held  for  that  county  in 
a  town  about  twenty  miles'  distance  from  *hat 
which  is  the  scene  of  our  story.  It  seems,  it  is 
usual  for  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  bar  to  re- 
pair to  these  sessions,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of 
profit  as  to  show  their  parts  and  learn  the  law  of 
the  justices  of  peace;  for  which  purpose  one  of 
the  wisest  and  gravest  of  all  the  justices  is  ap- 
pointed speaker,  or  chairman,  as  they  modestly 
call  it,  and  he  reads  them  a  lecture,  and  instructs 
them  in  the  true  knowledge  of  the  law. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  133 

''You  are  here  guilty  of  a  little  mistake,"  says 
Adams,  ''which,  if  you  please,  I  will  correct:  I 
have  attended  at  one  of  these  quarter-sessions, 
where  I  observed  the  counsel  taught  the  justices, 
instead  of  learning  anything  of  them." 

It  is  not  very  material,  said  the  lady.  Hither 
repaired  Horatio,  who,  as  he  hoped  by  his  profes- 
sion to  advance  his  fortune,  which  was  not  at  pres- 
ent very  large,  for  the  sake  of  his  dear  Leonora, 
he  resolved  to  spare  no  pains,  nor  lose  any  op- 
portunity of  improving  or  advancing  himself 
in  it. 

The  same  afternoon  in  which  he  left  the  town, 
as  Leonora  stood  at  her  window,  a  coach  and  six 
passed  by,  which  she  declared  to  be  the  com- 
pletest,  genteelest,  prettiest  equipage  she  ever 
saw;  adding  these  remarkable  words,  "Oh,  I  am 
in  love  with  that  equipage!"  which,  though  her 
friend  Florella  at  that  time  did  not  greatly  re- 
gard, she  hath  since  remembered. 

In  the  evening  an  assembly  was  held,  which 
Leonora  honored  with  her  company' ;  but  intended 
to  pay  her  dear  Horatio  the  compliment  of  refus- 
ing to  dance  in  his  absence. 

Oh,  why  have  not  women  as  good  resolution  to 
maintain  their  vows  as  they  have  often  good  in- 
clinations in  making  them! 

The  gentleman  wiio  owned  the  coach  and  six 
came  to  the  assembly.  His  clothes  were  as  re- 
markably fine  as  his  equipage  could  be.  He  soon 
attracted  the  eyes  of  the  company ;  all  the  smarts, 
all  the  silk  waistcoats  with  silver  and  gold  edg- 
ings, were  eclipsed  in  an  instant. 


134  THE  HISTORY  OF 

"Madam,"  said  Adams,  "if  it  be  not  imperti- 
nent, I  should  be  glad  to  know  how  this  gentleman 
was  dressed." 

Sir,  answered  the  lady,  I  have  been  told  he  had 
on  a  cut  velvet  coat  of  a  cinnamon  color,  lined  with 
a  pink  satin,  embroidered  all  over  with  gold; 
his  waistcoat,  which  was  cloth  of  silver,  was  em- 
broidered with  gold  likewise.  I  cannot  be  partic- 
ular as  to  the  rest  of  his  dress;  but  it  was  all  in 
the  French  fashion,  for  Bellarmine  (that  was  his 
name)  was  just  arrived  from  Paris. 

This  fine  figure  did  not  more  entirely  engage 
the  eyes  of  every  lady  in  the  assembly  than 
Leonora  did  his.  He  had  scarce  beheld  her,  but 
he  stood  motionless  and  fixed  as  a  statue,  or  at 
least  would  have  done  so  if  good  breeding  had  per- 
mitted him.  However,  he  carried  it  so  far  before 
he  had  power  to  correct  himself,  that  every  person 
in  the  room  easily  discovered  where  his  admira- 
tion was  settled.  The  other  ladies  began  to  single 
out  their  former  partners,  all  perceiving  who 
would  be  Bellarmine 's  choice;  which  they  how- 
ever endeavored,  by  all  possible  means,  to  pre- 
vent: many  of  them  saying  to  Leonora,  "O 
madam!  I  suppose  we  shan't  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  dance  to-night;"  and  then  crying 
out,  in  Bellarmine's  hearing,  "Oh!  Leonora  will 
not  dance,  I  assure  you:  her  partner  is  not  here." 
One  maliciously  attempted  to  prevent  her,  by 
sending  a  disagreeable  fellow  to  ask  her,  that  so 
she  might  be  obliged  either  to  dance  with  him,  or 
sit  down;  but  this  scheme  proved  abortive. 

Leonora    saw    herself    admired    by    the    fine 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  135 

stranger,  and  envied  by  every  woman  present. 
Her  little  heart  began  to  flutter  within  her,  and 
her  head  was  agitated  with  a  convulsive  motion: 
she  seemed  as  if  she  would  speak  to  several  of  her 
acquaintance,  but  had  nothing  to  say;  for,  as  she 
would  not  mention  her  present  triumph,  so  she 
could  not  disengage  her  thoughts  one  moment 
from  the  contemplation  of  it.  She  had  never 
tasted  anything  like  this  happiness.  She  had  be- 
fore known  what  it  was  to  torment  a  single 
woman;  but  to  be  hated  and  secretly  cursed  by 
a  whole  assembly  was  a  joy  reserved  for  this 
blessed  moment.  As  this  vast  profusion  of 
ecstasy  had  confounded  her  understanding,  so 
there  was  nothing  so  foolish  as  her  behavior:  she 
played  a  thousand  childish  tricks,  distorted  her 
person  into  several  shapes,  and  her  face  into  sev- 
eral laughs,  without  any  reason.  In  a  word,  her 
carriage  was  as  absurd  as  her  desires,  which  were 
to  affect  an  insensibility  of  the  stranger's  admi- 
ration, and  at  the  same  time  a  triumph,  from  that 
admiration,  over  every  woman  in  the  room. 

In  this  temper  of  mind,  Bellarmine,  having  in- 
quired who  she  was,  advanced  to  her,  and  with  a 
low  bow  begged  the  honor  of  dancing  with  her, 
which  she,  with  as  low  a  courtesy,  immediately 
granted.  She  danced  with  him  all  night,  and  en- 
joyed, perhaps,  the  highest  pleasure  that  she  was 
capable  of  feeling. 

At  these  words,  Adams  fetched  a  deep  groan, 
which  frighted  the  ladies,  who  told  him,  ''They 
hoped  he  was  not  ill."  He  answered,  ''He 
groaned  only  for  the  folly  of  Leonora." 


136  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Leonora  retired  (continued  the  lady)  about  six 
in  the  morning,  but  not  to  rest.  She  tumbled  and 
tossed  in  her  bed,  with  very  short  intervals  of 
sleep,  and  those  entirely  filled  with  dreams  of  the 
equipage  and  fine  clothes  she  had  seen,  and  the 
balls,  operas,  and  ridottos,  which  had  been  the 
subject  of  their  conversation. 

In  the  afternoon,  Bellarmine,  in  the  dear  coach 
and  six,  came  to  wait  on  her.  He  was  indeed 
channed  with  her  person,  and  was,  on  inquiry,  so 
well  pleased  with  the  circumstances  of  her  father 
(for  he  himself,  notwithstanding  all  his  finer}'-, 
was  not  quite  so  rich  as  a  Croesus  or  an  Attains). 
— ** Attains,"  says  Mr.  Adams:  ''but  pray  how 
came  you  acquainted  with  these  names?"  The 
lady  smiled  at  the  question,  and  proceeded.  He 
was  so  pleased,  I  say,  that  he  resolved  to  make 
his  addresses  to  her  directly.  He  did  so  accord- 
ingly, and  that  with  so  much  warmth  and  brisk- 
ness, that  he  quickly  baffled  her  weak  repulses, 
and  obliged  the  lady  to  refer  him  to  her  father, 
who,  she  knew,  would  quickly  declare  in  favor  of 
a  coach  and  six. 

Thus  what  Horatio  had  by  sighs  and  tears,  love 
and  tenderness,  been  so  long  obtaining,  the 
French-English  Bellarmine  with  gayety  and  gal- 
lantry possessed  himself  of  in  an  instant.  In 
othei'  words,  what  modesty  had  employed  a  full 
year  in  raising,  impudence  demolished  in  twenty- 
four  hours. 

Here  Adams  groaned  a  second  time;  but  the 
ladies,  who  began  to  smoke  him,  took  no  notice. 

From  the  opening  of  the  assembly  till  the  end 


JOSEPH  AXDREAVS  137 

of  Bellarmine's  visit,  Leonora  bad  scarce  once 
thought  of  Horatio :  biu  he  now  began,  though  an 
unwelcome  guest,  to  enter  into  her  raind.  She 
wished  she  had  seen  the  charming  Bellarmine  and 
his  charming  ecjuipage  before  matters  had  gone 
so  far.  "Yet  why,"  says  she,  "shouki  I  wish  to 
have  seen  him  before ;  or  what  signifies  it  that  I 
have  seen  him  now?  Is  not  Horatio  my  lover,  al- 
most my  husband?  Is  he  not  as  handsome,  nay 
handsomer  than  Bellarmine?  Aye,  but  Bellar- 
mine is  the  genteeler.  and  the  finer  man ;  yes.  that 
he  must  be  allowed.  Yes.  yes,  he  is  that  rer 
tainly.  But  did  not  I.  no  longer  ago  than  yester- 
day, love  Horatio  more  than  all  the  world?  Aye, 
but  yesterday  I  had  not  seen  Bellarmine.  But 
doth  not  Horatio  dote  on  me,  and  may  he  not  in 
despair  break  hi>  heart  if  I  abandon  him?  Well, 
and  hath  not  Bellarmine  a  heart  to  break  too? 
Yes,  but  I  promised  Horatio  first;  but  that  was 
poor  Bellarmine's  misfortune;  if  I  had  seen  him 
first,  I  should  certainly  have  preferred  him.  Did 
not  the  dear  creature  prefer  me  to  every  woman 
in  the  assembly.  v\'hen  every  she  was  laying  out 
for  him?  When  was  it  in  Horatio's  power  to 
give  me  such  an  instance  of  atfection?  Can  he 
give  me  an  equipage,  or  any  of  those  things  which 
Bellarmine  will  make  me  mistress  of?  How  vast 
is  the  difference  between  being  the  wife  of  a  poor 
coimselor  and  the  wife  of  one  of  Bellarmine's 
fortrme !  If  I  marry  Horatio.  I  shall  triumph 
over  no  more  than  one  rival :  but  by  marrying 
Bellarmine,  I  shall  be  the  envy  of  all  my  ac- 
quaintance.    What   happiness !     But   can   I    suf- 


138  THE  HISTORY  OF 

fer  Ploratio  to  die?  for  he  hath  sworn  he  cannot 
survive  my  loss:  but  perhaps  he  may  not  die:  if 
he  should,  can  I  prevent  it?  Must  I  sacrifice  my- 
self to  him?  besides,  Bellarmine  may  be  as  mis- 
erable for  me  too."  She  was  thus  arguing  with 
herself,  when  some  young  ladies  called  her  to  the 
walks,  and  a  little  relieved  her  anxiety  for  the 
present. 

The  next  morning  Bellarmine  breakfasted  with 
her  in  presence  of  her  aunt,  whom  he  sufficiently 
informed  of  his  passion  for  Leonora.  He  was  no 
sooner  withdrawn  than  the  old  lady  began  to  ad- 
vise her  niece  on  this  occasion.  ''You  see,  child," 
says  she,  "what  fortune  hath  thrown  in  your 
way ;  and  I  hope  you  will  not  withstand  your  own 
preferment."  Leonora,  sighing,  begged  her  not 
to  mention  any  such  thing,  when  she  knew  her  en- 
gagements to  Horatio.  "Engagements  to  a  fig!" 
cried  the  aunt;  "you  should  thank  Heaven  on 
your  knees  that  you  have  it  yet  in  your  power  to 
break  them.  Will  any  woman  hesitate  a  moment 
whether  she  shall  ride  in  a  coach  or  walk  on  foot 
all  the  days  of  her  life?  But  Bellarmine  drives 
six,  and  Horatio  not  even  a  pair." — "Yes,  but, 
madam,  what  will  the  world  say?"  answered 
Leonora:  "will  not  they  condemn  me?" — "The 
world  is  always  on  the  side  of  prudence,"  cries 
the  aunt,  "and  would  surely  condemn  you  if  you 
sacrificed  your  interest  to  any  motive  whatever. 
Oh!  I  know  the  world  very  well;  and  you  show 
your  ignorance,  my  dear,  by  your  objection.  0' 
my  conscience!  the  world  is  wiser.  I  have  lived 
longer  in  it  than  you;  and  I  assure  you  there  is 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  139 

not  anything  worth  our  regard  besides  money; 
nor  did  I  ever  know  one  person  who  married  from 
other  considerations,  who  did  not  afterwards 
heartily  repent  it.  Besides,  if  we  examine  the 
two  men,  can  yon  prefer  a  sneaking  fellow,  who 
hath  been  bred  at  the  university,  to  a  fine  gentle- 
man just  come  from  his  travels.  All  the  world 
must  allow  Bellarmine  to  be  a  fine  gentleman, 
positively  a  fine  gentleman,  and  a  handsome 
man." — ''Perhaps,  madam,  I  should  not  doubt,  if 
I  knew  how  to  be  handsomely  off  with  the  other." 
— ''Oh!  leave  that  to  me,"  says  the  aunt.  "You 
know  your  father  hath  not  been  acquainted  with 
the  affair.  Indeed,  for  my  part  I  thought  it 
might  do  well  enough,  not  dreaming  of  such  an 
offer;  but  I'll  disengage  you:  leave  me  to  give 
the  fellow  an  answer.  I  warrant  you  shall  have 
no  farther  trouble." 

Leonora  was  at  length  satisfied  with  her  aunt's 
reasoning;  and  Bellarmine  supping  with  her  that 
evening,  it  was  agreed  he  should  the  next  morn- 
ing go  to  her  father  and  propose  the  match,  which 
she  consented  should  be  consummated  at  his  re- 
turn. 

The  aunt  retired  soon  after  supper;  and,  the 
lovers  being  left  together,  Bellarmine  began  in 
the  following  manner:  "Yes,  madam;  this  coat,  I 
assure  you,  was  made  at  Paris,  and  I  defy  the 
best  English  tailor  even  to  imitate  it.  There  is 
not  one  of  them  can  cut,  madam;  they  can't  cut. 
If  you  observe  how  this  skirt  is  turned,  and  this 
sleeve:  a  clumsy  English  rascal  can  do  nothing 
like  it.    Pray,  how   do   you   like  my  liveries?" 


140  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Leonora  answered,  "She  thought  them  very 
pretty." — "All  French,"  says  he,  *'I  assure  you, 
except  the  greatcoats;  I  never  trust  anything 
more  than  a  greatcoat  to  an  Englishman.  You 
know  one  must  encourage  our  own  people  what 
one  can,  especially  as,  before  I  had  a  place,  I  was 
in  the  country  interest,  he,  he,  he!  But  for  my- 
self, I  would  see  the  dirty  island  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea.  rather  than  wear  a  single  rag  of  Eng- 
lish work  about  me :  and  I  am  sure,  after  you  have 
made  one  tour  to  Paris,  you  will  be  of  the  same 
opinion  with  regard  to  your  own  clothes.  You  can't 
conceive  what  an  addition  a  French  dress  would  be 
to  your  beauty;  I  positively  assure  you,  at  the 
tirst  opera  I  saw  since  I  came  over,  I  mistook  the 
English  ladies  for  chambermaids,  he,  he,  he!" 

With  such  sort  of  polite  discourse  did  the  gay 
Bellarmine  entertain  his  beloved  Leonora,  when 
the  door  opened  on  a  sudden,  and  Horatio  entered 
the  room.  Here  'tis  impossible  to  express  the 
surprise  of  Leonora. 

"Poor  woman!"  says  Mrs.  Slipslop,  "what  a 
teiTible  quandary  she  must  be  in!" — "Not  at 
all,"  says  Mrs.  Grave-airs;  "such  sluts  can  never 
be  confounded." — "She  must  have  then  more 
than  Corinthian  assurance,"  said  Adams;  "aye, 
more  than  Lais  herself." 

A  long  silence,  continued  the  lady,  prevailed  in 
the  whole  company.  If  the  familiar  entrance  of 
Horatio  struck  the  greatest  astonishment  into 
Bellarmine,  the  unexpected  presence  of  Bellar- 
mine no  less  surprised  Horatio.  At  length 
Leonora,  collecting  all  the  spirit  she  was  mistress 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  141 

t)f,  addressed  herself  to  the  latter,  and  pretended 
to  wonder  at  the  reason  of  so  late  a  visit.  "I 
should  indeed,"  answered  he,  ''have  made  some 
apology  for  disturbing  you  at  this  hour,  had  not 
my  finding  you  in  company  assured  me  I  do  not 
break  in  upon  your  repose."  Bellarmine  rose 
from  his  chair,  traversed  the  room  in  a  minuet 
step,  and  hummed  an  opera  tune,  while  Horatio, 
advancing  to  Leonora,  asked  her  in  a  whisper  if 
that  gentleman  was  not  a  relation  of  hers;  to 
which  she  answered  with  a  smile,  or  rather  sneer, 
"No,  he  is  no  relation  of  mine  yet;"  adding,  ''she 
could  not  guess  the  meaning  of  his  question." 
Horatio  told  her  softly,  "It  did  not  arise  from 
jealousy." — "Jealousy!  I  assure  you,  it  would 
be  very  strange  in  a  common  acquaintance  to  give 
himself  any  of  those  airs."  These  words  a  little 
surprised  Horatio ;  but,  before  he  had  time  to  an- 
swer, Bellarmine  danced  up  to  the  lady  and  told 
her,  "He  feared  he  interrupted  some  business 
between  her  and  the  gentleman." — "I  can  have 
no  business,"  said  she,  "with  the  gentleman,  nor 
any  other,  which  need  be  any  secret  to  you." 

"You'll  pardon  me,"  said  Horatio,  "if  I  de- 
sire to  know  who  this  gentleman  is  who  is  to  be 
entrusted  with  all  our  secrets." — "You'll  know 
soon  enough,"  cries  Leonora;  "but  I  can't  guess 
what  secrets  can  ever  pass  between  us  of  such 
mighty  consequence." — "No,  madam!"  cries 
Horatio;  "I  am  sure  you  would  not  have  me  un- 
derstand you  in  earnest." — " 'Tis  indifferent  to 
me,"  says  she,  "how  you  understand  me;  but  I 
think  so  unseasonable  a  visit  is  difficult  to  be 


142  THE  HISTORY  OF 

understood  at  all,  at  least  when  people  find  one 
engaged:  though  one's  servants  do  not  deny  one, 
one  may  expect  a  well-bred  person  should  soon 
take  the  hint."  ''Madam,"  said  Horatio,  *'I  did 
not  imagine  any  engagement  with  a  stranger,  as 
it  seems  this  gentleman  is,  would  have  made  my 
visit  impertinent,  or  that  any  such  ceremonies 
were  to  be  preserved  between  persons  in  our  sit- 
uation." ''Sure  you  are  in  a  dream,"  says  she, 
"or  would  persuade  me  that  I  am  in  one.  I 
know  no  pretensions  a  common  acquaintance  can 
have  to  lay  aside  the  ceremonies  of  good  breed- 
ing." "Sure,"  said  he,  "I  am  in  a  dream;  for  it 
is  impossible  I  should  be  really  esteemed  a  com- 
mon acquaintance  by  Leonora,  after  what  has 
passed  between  us?"  "Passed  between  us!  Do 
you  intend  to  affront  me  before  this  gentleman?" 
"D — n  me^  affront  the  lady,"  says  Bellarmine, 
cocking  his  hat,  and  strutting  up  to  Horatio: 
"does  any  man  dare  affront  this  lady  before  me, 
d — n  me?"  "Hark'ee,  sir,"  says  Horatio,  "I 
would  advise  you  to  lay  aside  that  fierce  air;  for 
I  am  mightily  deceived  if  this  lady  has  not  a  vio- 
lent desire  to  get  your  worship  a  good  drubbing." 
"Sir,"  said  Bellarmine,  "I  have  the  honor  to  be 
her  protector;  and,  d — n  me,  if  I  understand 
your  meaning."  "Sir,"  answered  Horatio,  "she 
is  rather  your  protectress;  but  give  yourself  no 
more  airs,  for  you  see  I  am  i^repared  for  you" 
(shaking  his  whip  at  him).  "Oh,  serviteur  ires 
Inimble/'  says  Bellarmine:  "Je  vous  entend 
parfaitment  hien."  At  which  time  the  aunt,  who 
had  heard  of  Horatio's  visit,  entered  the  room, 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  143 

an(3  soon  satisfied  all  his  doubts.  She  convinced 
him  that  he  was  never  more  awake  in  his  life,  and 
that  nothing  more  extraordinary  had  happened  in 
his  three  days'  absence  than  a  small  alteration  in 
the  affections  of  Leonora;  who  now  burst  into 
tears,  and  wondered  what  reason  she  had  given 
him  to  use  her  in  so  barbarous  a  manner.  Horatio 
desired  Bellarmine  to  withdraw  with  him;  but 
the  ladies  prevented  it  by  laying  violent  hands 
on  the  latter;  upon  which  the  former  took  his 
leave  without  any  great  ceremony,  and  departed, 
leaving  the  lady  with  his  rival  to  consult  for  his 
safety,  which  Leonora  feared  her  indiscretion 
might  have  endangered;  but  the  aunt  comforted 
her  with  assurances  that  Horatio  would  not  ven- 
ture his  person  against  so  accomplished  a  cavalier 
as  Bellarmine,  and  that,  being  a  lawyer,  he  would 
seek  revenge  in  his  own  way,  and  the  most  they 
had  to  apprehend  from  him  was  an  action. 

They  at  length  therefore  agreed  to  permit  Bel- 
larmine to  retire  to  his  lodgings,  having  first  set- 
tled all  matters  relating  to  the  journey  which  he 
was  to  undertake  in  the  morning,  and  their  prep- 
arations for  the  nuptials  at  his  return. 

But,  alas!  as  wise  men  have  observed,  the  seat 
of  valor  is  not  the  countenance ;  and  many  a  grave 
and  plain  man  will,  on  a  just  provocation,  betake 
himself  to  that  mischievous  metal,  cold  iron; 
while  men  of  a  fiercer  brow,  and  sometimes  with 
that  emblem  of  courage,  a  cockade,  will  more  pru- 
dently decline  it. 

Leonora  was  waked  in  the  morning,  from  a  vis- 
ionary coach  and  six,  with  the  dismal   account 


144  THE  HISTORY  OF 

that  Bellarmine  was  run  through  the  body  by 
Horatio;  that  he  lay  languishing  at  an  inn,  and 
the  surgeons  had  declared  the  wound  mortal. 
She  immediately  leaped  out  of  the  bed,  danced 
about  the  room  in  a  frantic  manner,  tore  her  hair 
and  beat  her  breast  in  all  the  agonies  of  despair ; 
in  which  sad  condition  her  aunt,  who  likewise 
arose  at  the  news,  found  her.  The  good  old  lady 
applied  her  utmost  art  to  comfort  hei'  niece.  She 
told  her,  ''While  there  was  life  there  was  hope; 
but  that  if  he  should  die  her  affliction  would  be  of 
no  service  to  Bellarmine,  and  would  only  expose 
herself,  which  might,  probably,  keep  her  some 
time  without  any  future  offer;  that,  as  matters 
had  happened,  her  wisest  waj^  would  be  to  think 
no  more  of  Bellarmine,  but  to  endeavor  to  regain 
the  affections  of  Horatio."  ''Speak  not  to  me," 
cried  the  disconsolate  Leonora;  "is  it  not  owing 
to  me  that  poor  Bellarmine  has  lost  his  life? 
Have  not  these  cursed  charms  (at  which  words 
she  looked  steadfastly  in  the  glass)  been  the  ruin 
of  the  most  charming  man  of  this  age?  Can  I 
ever  bear  to  contemplate  my  own  face  again 
(with  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  glass)  ?  Am  I  not 
the  murderess  of  the  finest  gentleman?  No  other 
woman  in  the  town  could  have  made  any  impres- 
sion on  him."  "Never  think  of  things  past," 
cries  the  aunt:  "think  of  regaining  the  affections 
of  Horatio."  "What  reason,"  said  the  niece, 
"have  I  to  hope  he  would  forgive  me?  No,  I 
have  lost  him  as  well  as  the  other,  and  it  was 
your  wicked  advice  which  was  the  occasion  of  all ; 
you  seduced  me,  contrary  to  my  inclinations,  to 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  145 

abandon  poor  Horatio  (at  which  words  she  burst 
into  tears) ;  you  prevailed  upon  me,  whether  I 
would  or  no,  to  give  up  my  affections  for  him ;  had 
it  not  been  for  you,  Bellarmine  never  would  have 
entered  into  my  thoughts;  had  not  his  addresses 
been  backed  by  your  persuasions,  they  never 
would  have  made  any  impression  on  me ;  I  should 
have  defied  all  the  fortune  and  equipage  in  the 
world;  but  it  was  you,  it  was  you,  who  got  the 
better  of  my  youth  and  simplicity,  and  forced  me 
to  lose  my  dear  Horatio  for  ever." 

The  aunt  was  almost  borne  down  with  this  tor- 
rent of  words;  she,  however,  rallied  all  the 
strength  she  could,  and,  drawing  her  mouth  up  in 
a  purse,  began:  "I  am  not  surprised,  niece,  at 
this  ingratitude.  Those  who  advise  young- 
women  for  their  interest,  must  always  expect  such 
a  return:  I  am  convinced  my  brother  will  thank 
me  for  breaking  off  your  match  with  Horatio,  at 
any  rate." — "That  may  not  be  in  your  power 
yet,"  answered  Leonora,  "though  it  is  very  un- 
grateful in  you  to  desire  or  attempt  it,  after  the 
presents  you  have  received  from  him."  (For  in- 
deed true  it  is,  that  many  presents,  and  some  pretty 
valuable  ones,  had  passed  from  Horatio  to  the  old 
lady;  but  as  true  it  is,  that  Bellarmine,  when  he 
breakfasted  with  her  and  her  niece,  had  compli- 
mented her  with  a  brilliant  from  his  finger,  of 
much  greater  value  than  all  she  had  touched  of 
the  other.) 

The  aunt's  gall  was  on  float  to  reply,  when  a 
servant  brought  a  letter  into  the  room,  which 
Leonora,  hearing  it  came  from  Bellarmine,  with 

i— 10 


146  THE  HISTORY  OF 

great  eagerness  opened,  and  read  as  follows: — 

"Most  nmNE  Ceeature, — The  wound  which  I 
fear  you  have  heard  I  received  from  my  rival  is 
not  like  to  be  so  fatal  as  those  shot  into  my  heart 
which  have  been  fired  from  your  eyes,  tout  bril- 
liant.    Those  are  the  only  cannons  by  which  I  am 
to  fall;  for  my  surgeon  gives  me  hopes  of  being 
soon  able  to  attend  your  ruelle;  till  when,  unless 
you  would  do  me  an  honor  which  I  have  scarce  the 
hardiesse  to  think  of,  your  absence  will  be  the 
greatest  anguish  which  can  be  felt  by, 
Madam, 
Avec  toute  le  respecte  in  the  world, 
Your  most  obedient,  most  absolute 
Devote, 

' '  Bellarmine.  * ' 

As  soon  as  Leonora  perceived  such  hopes  of 
Bellarmine's  recovery,  and  that  the  gossip  Fame 
had,  according  to  custom,  so  enlarged  his  danger, 
she  presently  abandoned  all  further  thoughts  of 
Horatio,  and  was  soon  reconciled  to  her  aunt, 
who  received  her  again  into  favor,  with  a  more 
Christian  forgiveness  than  we  generally  meet 
with.  Indeed,  it  is  possible  she  might  be  a  little 
alarmed  at  the  hints  which  her  niece  had  given 
her  concerning  the  presents.  She  might  appre- 
hend such  rumors,  should  they  get  abroad,  might 
injure  a  reputation  which,  by  frequenting  church 
twice  a  day,  and  preserving  the  utmost  rigor  and 
strictness  in  her  countenance  and  behavior  for 
many  years,  she  had  established.  ^ 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  147 

Leonora's  passion  returned  now  for  Bellar- 
mine  with  greater  force,  after  its  small  relax- 
ation, than  ever.  She  proposed  to  her  aunt  to 
make  him  a  visit  in  his  confinement,  which  the  old 
lady,  with  great  and  commendable  prudence,  ad- 
vised her  to  decline:  ''For,"  says  she,  "should 
any  accident  intervene  to  prevent  your  intended 
match,  too  forward  a  behavior  with  this  lover  may 
injure  you  in  the  eyes  of  others.  Every  woman, 
till  she  is  married,  ought  to  consider  of,  and  pro- 
vide against,  the  possibility  of  the  affair's  break- 
ing off."  Leonora  said,  "She  should  be  indif- 
ferent to  whatever  might  happen  in  such  a  case; 
for  she  had  now  so  absolutely  placed  her  affec- 
tions on  this  dear  man  (so  she  called  him),  that, 
if  it  was  her  misfortune  to  lose  him,  she  should 
for  ever  abandon  all  thoughts  of  mankind."  She, 
therefore,  resolved  to  visit  him,  notwithstanding 
all  the  prudent  advice  of  her  aunt  to  the  contrary, 
and  that  very  afternoon  executed  her  resolution. 

The  lady  was  proceeding  in  her  story,  when  the 
coach  drove  into  the  inn  where  the  company  were 
to  dine,  sorely  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  Mr. 
Adams,  whose  ears  were  the  most  hungry  part 
about  him;  he  being,  as  the  reader  may  perhaps 
guess,  of  an  insatiable  curiosity,  and  heartily  de- 
sirous of  hearing  the  end  of  this  amour,  though 
he  professed  he  could  scarce  wish  success  to  a 
lady  of  so  inconstant  a  disposition. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  dreadful  quan-el  which  happened  at  the  inn  where  the  com- 
pany dined,  with  its  bloody  consequences  to  Mi*.  Adams. 

AS  soon  as  the  passengers  had  alighted  from 
the  coach,  Mr.  Adams,  as  was  his  custom, 
made  directly  to  the  kitchen,  where  he 
found  Joseph  sitting  by  the  fire,  and  the  hostess 
anointing  his  leg ;  for  the  horse  which  Mr.  Adams 
had  borrowed  of  his  clerk  had  so  violent  a  pro- 
pensity to  kneeling,  that  one  would  have  thought 
it  had  been  his  trade,  as  well  as  his  master's;  nor 
would  he  always  give  any  notice  of  such  his  inten- 
tion; he  was  often  found  on  his  knees  when  the 
rider  least  expected  it.  This  foible,  however,  was 
of  no  great  inconvenience  to  the  parson,  who  was 
accustomed  to  it;  and,  as  his  legs  almost  touched 
the  ground  when  he  bestrode  the  beast,  had  but 
a  little  way  to  fall,  and  threw  himself  forward  on 
such  occasions  with  so  much  dexterity  that  he 
never  received  any  mischief ;  the  horse  and  he  fre- 
quently rolling  many  paces'  distance,  and  after- 
wards both  getting  up  and  meeting  as  good 
friends  as  ever. 

Poor  Joseph,  who  had  not  been  used  to  such 
kind  of  cattle,  though  an  excellent  horseman,  did 
not  so  happily  disengage  himself ;  but,  falling  with 
his  leg  under  the  beast,  received  a  violent  con- 
tusion, to  which  the  good  woman  was,  as  we  have 

148 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  149 

said,  applying  a  warm  hand,  with  some  camphor- 
ated spirits,  just  at  the  time  when  the  parson  en- 
tered the  kitchen. 

He  had  scarce  expressed  his  concern  for 
Joseph's  misfortune  before  the  host  likewise  en- 
tered. He  was  by  no  means  of  Mr.  Tow-wouse's 
gentle  dis^DOsition ;  and  was,  indeed,  perfect  mas- 
ter of  his  house,  and  everything  in  it  but  his 
guests. 

This  surly  fellow,  who  always  proportioned  his 
respect  to  the  appearance  of  a  traveler,  from  * '  God 
bless  your  honor,"  down  to  plain  ''Coming  pres- 
ently, ' '  observing  his  wife  on  her  knees  to  a  foot- 
man, cried  out,  without  considering  his  circum- 
stances, ''What  a  pox  is  the  woman  about?  why 
don't  you  mind  the  company  in  the  coach?  Go 
and  ask  them  what  they  will  have  for  dinner." 
"My  dear,"  says  she,  "you  know  they  can  have 
nothing  but  what  is  at  the  fire,  which  will  be  ready 
presently,  and  really  the  poor  young  man's  leg  is 
very  much  bruised."  At  which  words  she  fell  to 
chafing  more  violently  than  before:  the  bell  then 
happening  to  ring,  he  damn'd  his  wife,  and  bid 
her  go  in  to  the  company,  and  not  stand  rubbing 
there  all  day,  for  he  did  not  believe  the  young  fel- 
low's leg  was  so  bad  as  he  pretended;  and  if  it 
was,  within  twenty  miles  he  would  find  a  surgeon 
to  cut  it  off.  Upon  these  words,  Adams  fetched 
two  strides  across  the  room;  and  snapping  his 
fingers  over  his  head,  muttered  aloud,  He  would 
excommunicate  such  a  wretch  for  a  farthing,  for 
he  believed  the  devil  had  more  humanity.  These 
words  occasioned  a  dialogue  between  Adams  and 


150  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  host,  in  which  there  were  two  or  three  sharp 
replies,  till  Joseph  bade  the  latter  know  how  to 
behave  himself  to  his  betters.  At  which  the  host 
(having  first  strictly  surveyed  Adams)  scornfully 
repeating  the  word  ''betters,"  flew  into  a  rage, 
and,  telling  Joseph  he  was  as  able  to  walk  out  of 
his  house  as  he  had  been  to  walk  into  it,  offered 
to  lay  violent  hands  on  him;  which  perceiving, 
Adams  dealt  him  so  sound  a  compliment  over  his 
face  with  his  fist,  that  the  blood  immediately 
gushed  out  of  his  nose  in  a  stream.  The  host,  be- 
ing unwilling  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy,  especially 
by  a  person  of  Adams's  figure,  returned  the  favor 
with  so  much  gratitude,  that  the  parson's  nostrils 
began  to  look  a  little  redder  than  usual.  Upon 
which  he  again  assailed  his  antagonist,  and  with 
another  stroke  laid  him  sprawling  on  the  floor. 

The  hostess,  who  was  a  better  wife  than  so  surly 
a  husband  deserved,  seeing  her  husband  all  bloody 
and  stretched  along,  hastened  presently  to  his  as- 
sistance, or  rather  to  revenge  the  blow,  which,  to 
all  appearance,  was  the  last  he  would  ever  re- 
ceive; when,  lo!  a  pan  full  of  hog's  blood,  which 
unluckily  stood  on  the  dresser,  presented  itself 
first  to  her  hands.  She  seized  it  in  her  fury,  and 
without  any  reflection,  discharged  it  into  the  par- 
son's face;  and  with  so  good  an  aim,  that  much 
the  greater  part  first  saluted  his  countenance,  and 
trickled  thence  in  so  large  a  current  down  to  his 
beard,  and  over  his  garments,  that  a  more  horri- 
ble spectacle  was  hardly  to  be  seen,  or  even 
imagined.  All  which  was  perceived  by  Mrs.  Slip- 
slop, who  entered  the  kitchen  at  that  instant. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  151 

iThis  good  gentlewoman,  not  being  of  a  temper  so 
extremely  cool  and  patient  as  perhaps  was  re- 
quired to  ask  many  questions  on  this  occasion, 
flew  with  great  impetuosity  at  the  hostess's  cap, 
which,  together  with  some  of  her  hair,  she  plucked 
from  her  head  in  a  moment,  giving  her,  at  the 
same  time,  several  hearty  cuffs  in  the  face;  which 
by  frequent  practice  on  the  inferior  servants,  she 
had  learned  an  excellent  knack  of  delivering  with 
a  good  grace.  Poor  Joseph  could  hardly  rise 
from  his  chair;  the  parson  was  employed  in  wip- 
ing the  blood  from  his  eyes,  which  had  entirely 
blinded  him ;  and  the  landlord  was  but  just  begin- 
ning to  stir;  whilst  Mrs.  Slipslop,  holding  down 
the  landlady's  face  with  her  left  hand,  made  so 
dexterous  an  use  of  her  right,  that  the  poor  woman 
began  to  roar,  in  a  key  which  alarmed  all  the  com- 
pany in  the  inn. 

There  happened  to  be  in  the  inn,  at  this  time, 
besides  the  ladies  who  arrived  in  the  stage-coach, 
the  two  gentlemen  who  were  present  at  Mr.  Tow- 
wouse's  when  Joseph  was  detained  for  his  horse's 
meat,  and  whom  we  have  before  mentioned  to 
have  stopped  at  the  alehouse  with  Adams.  There 
was  likewise  a  gentleman  just  returned  from  his 
travels  to  Italy;  all  whom  the  horrid  outcry  of 
murder  presently  brought  into  the  kitchen,  where 
the  several  combatants  were  found  in  the  pos- 
tures already  described. 

It  was  now  no  difficulty  to  put  an  end  to  the 
fray,  the  conquerors  being  satisfied  with  the  ven- 
geance they  had  taken,  and  the  conquered  having 
no  appetite  to  renew  the  fight.    The  principal  fig- 


152  THE  HISTORY  OF 

ure,  and  which  engaged  the  eyes  of  all,  was 
Adams,  who  was  all  over  covered  with  blood, 
which  the  whole  company  concluded  to  be  his  own, 
and  consequently  imagined  him  no  longer  for  this 
world.  But  the  host,  who  had  now  recovered 
from  his  blow,  and  was  risen  from  the  ground, 
soon  delivered  them  from  this  apprehension,  by 
damning  his  wife  for  wasting  the  hog's  puddings, 
and  telling  her  all  would  have  been  very  well  if 
she  had  not  intermeddled,  like  a  b —  as  she  was; 
adding,  he  was  very  glad  the  gentlewoman  had 
paid  her,  though  not  half  what  she  deserved.  The 
poor  woman  had  indeed  fared  much  the  worst; 
having,  besides  the  unmerciful  cuffs  received,  lost 
a  quantity  of  hair,  which  Mrs.  Slipslop  in  triumph 
held  in  her  left  hand. 

The  traveler,  addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Grave- 
airs,  desired  her  not  to  be  frightened ;  for  here  had 
been  only  a  little  boxing,  which  he  said,  to  their 
disgracia,  the  English  were  accustomata  to:  add- 
ing, it  must  be,  however,  a  sight  somewhat  strange 
to  him,  who  was  just  come  from  Italy ;  the  Italians 
not  being  addicted  to  the  cu/fardo,  but  hastonza, 
says  he.  He  then  went  up  to  Adams,  and  telling 
him  he  looked  like  the  ghost  of  Othello,  bid  him 
not  shake  his  gory  locks  at  him,  for  he  could  not 
say  he  did  it.  Adams  very  innocently  answered, 
* '  Sir,  I  am  far  from  accusing  you. ' '  He  then  re- 
turned to  the  lady,  and  cried,  ^'I  find  the  bloody 
gentleman  is  uno  insipido  del  nullo  senso.  Dam- 
mato  di  me,  if  I  have  seen  such  a  spectaculo  in  my 
way  from  Viterbo." 

One  of  the  gentlemen  having  learned  from  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  153 

host  the  occasion  of  this  bustle,  and  being  assured 
by  him  that  Adams  had  struck  the  first  blow, 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "He'd  warrant  he  would  re- 
cover."— "Recover!  master,"  said  the  host,  smil- 
ing: "yes,  yes,  I  am  not  afraid  of  dying  with  a 
blow  or  two  neither ;  I  am  not  such  a  chicken  as 
that." — "Pugh!"  said  the  gentleman,  "I  mean 
you  will  recover  damages  in  that  action  which, 
undoubtedly,  you  intend  to  bring,  as  soon  as  a  writ 
can  be  returned  from  London ;  for  you  look  like  a 
man  of  too  much  spirit  and  courage  to  suffer  any 
one  to  beat  you  without  bringing  your  action 
against  him:  he  must  be  a  scandalous  fellow  in- 
deed who  would  put  up  with  a  drubbing  whilst  the 
law  is  open  to  revenge  it ;  besides,  he  hath  drawn 
blood  from  you,  and  spoiled  your  coat;  and  the 
jury  will  give  damages  for  that  too.  An  excel- 
lent new  coat  upon  my  word;  and  now  not  worth 
a  shilling!  I  don't  care,"  continued  he,  "to  in- 
termeddle in  these  cases;  but  you  have  a  right  to 
my  evidence ;  and  if  I  am  sworn,  I  must  speak  the 
truth.  I  saw  you  sprawling  on  the  floor,  and 
blood  gushing  from  your  nostrils.  You  may  take 
your  own  opinion;  but  was  I  in  your  circum- 
stances, every  drop  of  my  blood  should  convey  an 
ounce  of  gold  into  my  pocket:  remember  I  don't 
advise  you  to  go  to  law;  but  if  your  jury  were 
Christians,  they  must  give  swinging  damages. 
That's  all." — "Master,"  cried  the  host,  scratch- 
ing his  head,  "I  have  no  stomach  to  law,  I  thank 
you.  I  have  seen  enough  of  that  in  the  parish, 
where  two  of  my  neighbors  have  been  at  law  about 
a  house,  till  they  have  both  lawed  themselves  into 


154  THE  HISTORY  OF 

a  jail."  At  which  words  he  turned  about,  and 
began  to  inquire  again  after  his  hog's  puddings; 
nor  would  it  probably  have  been  a  sufficient  excuse 
for  his  wife,  that  she  spilt  them  in  his  defense, 
had  not  some  awe  of  the  company,  especially  of 
the  Italian  traveler,  who  was  a  person  of  great 
dignity,  withheld  his  rage. 

Whilst  one  of  the  above-mentioned  gentlemen 
was  employed,  as  we  have  seen  him,  on  the  behalf 
of  the  landlord,  the  other  was  no  less  hearty  on 
the  side  of  Mr.  Adams,  whom  he  advised  to  bring 
his  action  immediately.  He  said  the  assault  of 
the  wife  was  in  law  the  assault  of  the  husband, 
for  they  were  but  one  person;  and  he  was  liable 
to  pay  damages,  which  he  said  must  be  consid- 
erable, where  so  bloody  a  disposition  appeared. 
Adams  answered,  If  it  was  true  that  they  were  but 
one  person,  he  had  assaulted  the  wife;  for  he  was 
sorry  to  own  he  had  struck  the  husband  the  first 
blow.  ''I  am  sorry  you  own  it  too,"  cries  the 
gentleman;  ''for  it  could  not  possibly  appear  to 
the  court;  for  here  was  no  evidence  present  but 
the  lame  man  in  the  chair,  whom  I  suppose  to  be 
your  friend,  and  would  consequently  say  nothing 
but  what  made  for  you." — ''How,  sir,"  says 
Adams,  "do  you  take  me  for  a  villain,  who  would 
prosecute  revenge  in  cold  blood,  and  use  unjusti- 
fiable means  to  obtain  it?  If  you  knew  me,  and 
my  order,  I  should  think  you  affronted  both." 
At  the  word  order,  the  gentleman  stared  (for  he 
was  too  bloody  to  be  of  any  modern  order  of 
knights) ;  and,  turning  hastily  about,  said,  "Every 
man  knew  his  own  business." 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  155 

Matters  being  now  composed,  the  company  re- 
tired to  their  several  apartments ;  the  two  gentle- 
men congratulating  each  other  on  the  success  of 
their  good  offices  in  procuring  a  perfect  reconcili- 
ation between  the  contending  parties;  and  the 
traveler  went  to  his  repast,  crying,  "As  the  Ital- 
ian poet  says — 

'Je  vol  very  well  que  tutta  e  pace, 
So  send  up  dinner,  good  Boniface.'  " 

The  coachman  began  now  to  grow  importunate 
with  his  passengers,  whose  entrance  into  the 
coach  was  retarded  by  Miss  Grave-airs  insisting, 
against  the  remonstrance  of  all  the  rest,  that  she 
would  not  admit  a  footman  into  the  coach;  for 
poor  Joseph  was  too  lame  to  mount  a  horse.  A 
young  lady,  who  was,  as  it  seems,  an  earl's  grand- 
daughter, begged  it  with  almost  tears  in  her  eyes. 
Mr.  Adams  prayed,  and  Mrs.  Slipslop  scolded; 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  She  said,  ''She  would  not 
demean  herself  to  ride  with  a  footman :  that  there 
were  wagons  on  the  road:  that  if  the  master  of 
the  coach  desired  it,  she  would  pay  for  two  places ; 
but  would  suffer  no  such  fellow  to  come  in." 
— "Madam,"  says  Slipslop,  "I  am  sure  no  one 
can  refuse  another  coming  into  a  stage-coach." — 
"I  don't  know,  madam,"  says  the  lady;  "I  am 
not  much  used  to  stage-coaches;  I  seldom  travel 
in  them. ' ' — * '  That  may  be,  madam, ' '  replied  Slip- 
slop; "very  good  people  do;  and  some  people's 
betters,  for  aught  I  know."  Miss  Grave-airs 
said,  "Some  folks  might  some  times  give  their 
tonnes  a  liberty,  to  some  people  that  were  their 


156  THE  HISTORY  OF 

betters,  which  did  not  become  them ;  for  her  part, 
she  was  not  used  to  converse  with  servants." 
Slipslop  returned,  "Some  people  kept  no  servants 
to  converse  with;  for  her  part,  she  thanked 
Heaven  she  lived  in  a  family  where  there  were  a 
great  many,  and  had  more  under  her  own  com- 
mand than  any  paltry  little  gentlewoman  in  the 
kingdom."  Miss  Grave-airs  cried,  "She  believed 
her  mistress  would  not  encourage  such  sauciness 
to  her  betters." — "My  betters,"  says  Slipslop, 
"who  is  my  betters,  pray?" — "I  am  your  bet- 
ters," answered  Miss  Grave-airs,  "and  I'll  ac- 
quaint your  mistress." — At  which  Mrs.  Slipslop 
laughed  aloud,  and  told  her,  "Her  lady  was  one 
of  the  great  gentry ;  and  such  little  paltry  gentle- 
women as  some  folks,  who  traveled  in  stage- 
coaches, would  not  easily  come  at  her." 

This  smart  dialogue  between  some  people  and 
some  folks  was  going  on  at  the  coach  door  when  a 
solemn  person,  riding  into  the  inn,  and  seeing 
Miss  Grave-airs,  immediately  accosted  her  with 
"Dear  child,  how  do  you?"  She  presently  an- 
swered, "0  papa,  I  am  glad  you  have  overtaken 
me." — "So  am  I,"  answered  he;  "for  one  of  our 
coaches  is  just  at  hand ;  and,  there  being  room  for 
you  in  it,  you  shall  go  no  farther  in  the  stage  un- 
less you  desire  it." — "How  can  you  imagine  I 
should  desire  it?"  says  she;  so,  bidding  Slipslop 
ride  with  her  fellow,  if  she  pleased,  she  took  her 
father  by  the  hand,  who  was  just  alighted,  and 
walked  with  him  into  a  room. 

Adams  instantly  asked  the  coachman,  in  a  whis- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  157 


>) 


per,  *'If  he  knew  who  the  gentleman  was 
The  coachman  answered,  ''He  was  now  a  gentle- 
man, and  kept  his  horse  and  man;  but  times  are 
altered,  master,"  said  he;  "I  remember  when  he 
was  no  better  born  than  myself." — ''Ay!  ay!" 
says  Adams.  "My  father  drove  the  squire's 
coach,"  answered  he,  "when  that  very  man  rode 
postilion ;  but  he  is  now  his  steward ;  and  a  great 
gentleman."  Adams  then  snapped  his  fingers, 
and  cried,  "He  thought  she  was  some  such  trol- 
lop." 

Adams  made  haste  to  acquaint  Mrs.  Slipslop 
with  this  good  news,  as  he  imagined  it;  but  it 
found  a  reception  different  from  what  he  ex- 
pected. The  prudent  gentlewoman,  who  despised 
the  anger  of  Miss  Grave-airs  whilst  she  conceived 
her  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  of  small  fortune, 
now  she  heard  her  alliance  with  the  upper  serv- 
ants of  a  great  family  in  her  neighborhood,  began 
to  fear  her  interest  with  the  mistress.  She 
wished  she  had  not  carried  the  dispute  so  far,  and 
began  to  think  of  endeavoring  to  reconcile  herself 
to  the  young  lady  before  she  left  the  inn;  when, 
luckily,  the  scene  at  London,  which  the  reader  can 
scarce  have  forgotten,  presented  itself  to  her 
mind,  and  comforted  her  with  such  assurance, 
that  she  no  longer  apprehended  any  enemy  with 
her  mistress. 

Everything  being  now  adjusted,  the  company 
entered  the  coach,  which  was  just  on  its  departure, 
when  one  lady  recollected  she  had  left  her  fan,  a 
second  her  gloves,  a  third  a  snuff-box,  and  a 


158  THE  HISTORY  OF 

fourth  a  smelling-bottle  behind  her;  to  find  all 
which  occasioned  some  delay  and  much  swearing 
to  the  coachman. 

As  soon  as  the  coach  had  left  the  inn,  the 
women  all  together  fell  to  the  character  of  Miss 
Grave-airs;  whom  one  of  them  declared  she  had 
suspected  to  be  some  low  creature,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  their  journey,  and  another  affirmed  she 
had  not  even  the  looks  of  a  gentlewoman :  a  third 
warranted  she  was  no  better  than  she  should  be; 
and,  turning  to  the  lady  who  had  related  the  story 
in  the  coach,  said,  "Did  you  ever  hear,  madam, 
anything  so  prudish  as  her  remarks?  Well,  de- 
liver me  from  the  censoriousness  of  such  a  prude." 
The  fourth  added,  "0  madam!  all  these  crea- 
tures are  censorious;  but  for  my  part,  I  wonder 
where  the  wretch  was  bred ;  indeed,  I  must  own  I 
have  seldom  conversed  with  these  mean  kind  of 
people,  so  that  it  may  appear  stranger  to  me ;  but 
to  refuse  the  general  desire  of  a  whole  company 
had  something  in  it  so  astonishing,  that,  for  my 
part,  I  own  I  should  hardly  believe  it  if  my  own 
ears  had  not  been  witnesses  to  it." — "Yes,  and 
so  handsome  a  young  fellow,"  cries  Slipslop;  "the 
woman  must  have  no  compulsion  in  her :  I  believe 
she  is  more  of  a  Turk  than  a  Christian ;  I  am  cer- 
tain, if  she  had  any  Christian  woman's  blood  in 
her  veins,  the  sight  of  such  a  young  fellow  must 
have  warmed  it.  Indeed,  there  are  some 
wretched,  miserable  old  objects,  that  turn  one's 
stomach;  I  should  not  wonder  if  she  had  refused 
such  a  one;  I  am  as  nice  as  herself,  and  should 
have  cared  no  more  than  herself  for  the  company 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  159 

of  stinking  old  fellows;  but,  hold  up  thy  head, 
Joseph,  thou  art  none  of  those ;  and  she  who  hath 
not  compulsion  for  thee  is  a  Myhummetman,  and  I 
will  maintain  it."  This  conversation  made 
Joseph  uneasy  as  well  as  the  ladies ;  who,  perceiv- 
ing the  spirits  which  Mrs.  Slipslop  was  in  (for  in- 
deed she  was  not  a  cup  too  low),  began  to  fear 
the  consequence;  one  of  them  therefore  desired 
the  lady  to  conclude  the  story.  ''Aye,  madam," 
said  Slipslop,  "I  beg  your  ladyship  to  give  us  that 
story  you  commensated  in  the  morning;"  which  re- 
quest that  well-bred  woman  immediately  com- 
plied with. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Conclusion  of  the  unfortunate  jilt. 

LEONORA,  having  once  broke  through  the 
bounds  which  custom  and  modesty  impose 
on  her  sex,  soon  gave  an  unbridled  indul- 
gence to  her  passion.  Her  visits  to  Bellarmine 
were  more  constant,  as  well  as  longer,  than  his 
surgeon's:  in  a  word,  she  became  absolutely  his 
nurse;  made  his  water-gruel,  administered  him 
his  medicines;  and,  notwithstanding  the  prudent 
advice  of  her  aunt  to  the  contrary,  almost  entirely 
resided  in  her  wounded  lover's  apartment. 

The  ladies  of  the  town  began  to  take  her  con- 
duct under  consideration :  it  was  the  chief  topic  of 
discourse  at  their  tea-tables,  and  was  very  se- 
verely censured  by  the  most  part;  especially  by 
Lindamira,  a  lady  whose  discreet  and  starch  car- 
riage, together  with  a  constant  attendance  at 
church  three  times  a  day,  had  utterly  defeated 
many  malicious  attacks  on  her  own  reputation; 
for  such  was  the  envy  that  Lindamira 's  virtue 
had  attracted,  that,  notwithstanding  her  own  strict 
behavior  and  strict  inquiry  into  the  lives  of  others, 
she  had  not  been  able  to  escape  being  the  mark 
of  some  arrows  herself,  which,  however,  did  her 
no  injury ;  a  blessing,  perhaps,  owed  by  her  to  the 
clergy,  who  were  her  chief  male  companions,  and 

160 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  161 

with  two  or  three  of  whom  she  had  been  barbar- 
ously and  unjustly  calumniated. 

''Not  so  unjustly  neither,  perhaps,"  says  Slip- 
slop; ''for  the  clergy  are  men,  as  well  as  other 
folks." 

The  extreme  delicacy  of  Lindamira's  virtue  was 
cruelly  hurt  by  those  freedoms  which  Leonora  al- 
lowed herself:  she  said,  "It  was  an  atfront  to  her 
sex;  that  she  did  not  imagine  it  consistent  with 
any  woman's  honor  to  speak  to  the  creature,  or 
to  be  seen  in  her  company ;  and  that,  for  heri'  jDart, 
she  should  always  refuse  to  dance  at  an  assembly 
with  her,  for  fear  of  contamination  by  taking  her 
by  the  hand. ' ' 

But  to  return  to  my  story:  as  soon  as  Bellar- 
mine  was  recovered,  which  was  somewhat  within 
a  month  from  his  receiving  the  wound,  he  set  out, 
according  to  agreement,  for  Leonora's  father's,  in 
order  to  propose  the  match,  and  settle  all  matters 
with  him  touching  settlements,  and  the  like. 

A  little  before  his  arrival  the  old  gentleman  had 
received  an  intimation  of  the  affair  by  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  which  I  can  repeat  verbatim,  and 
which,  thej^  say,  was  written  neither  by  Leonora 
nor  her  aunt,  though  it  was  in  a  woman's  hand. 
The  letter  was  in  these  words : — 

"Sib, — ^I  am  sorry  to  acquaint  you  that  your 
daughter,  Leonora,  hath  acted  one  of  the  basest 
as  well  as  most  simple  parts  with  a  young  gen- 
tleman to  whom  she  had  engaged  herself,  and 
whom  she  hath  (pardon  the  word)  jilted  for  an- 
other of  inferior  fortune,  notwithstanding  his  su- 
I— 11 


162  THE  HISTORY  OF 

perior  figure.  You  may  take  what  measures 
YOU  please  on  this  occasion;  I  have  performed 
what  I  thought  my  duty;  as  I  have,  though  un- 
known to  YOU,  a  very  great  respect  for  your  fam- 
ily." 

The  old  gentleman  did  not  give  himself  the 
trouble  to  answer  this  kind  epistle;  nor  did  he 
take  any  notice  of  it,  after  he  had  read  it,  till  he 
saw  Bellarmine.  He  was,  to  say  the  truth,  one  of 
those  fathers  who  look  on  children  as  an  unhappy 
consequence  of  their  youthful  pleasures;  which, 
as  he  would  have  been  delighted  not  to  have  had 
attended  them,  so  was  he  no  less  pleased  with  any 
opportunity  to  rid  himself  of  the  incumbrance. 
He  passed,  in  the  world's  language,  as  an  exceed- 
ing good  father ;  being  not  only  so  rapacious  as  to 
rob  and  plunder  all  mankind  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power,  but  even  to  deny  himself  the  conveniencies, 
and  almost  necessaries,  of  life;  which  his  neigh- 
bors attributed  to  a  desire  of  raising  immense  for- 
tunes for  his  children :  but  in  fact  it  was  not  so ; 
he  heaped  up  money  for  its  own  sake  only,  and 
looked  on  his  children  as  his  rivals,  who  were  to 
enjoy  his  beloved  mistress  when  he  was  incapable 
of  possessing  her,  and  which  he  would  have  been 
much  more  charmed  with  the  power  of  carrying 
along  with  him;  nor  had  his  children  any  other 
security  of  being  his  heirs  than  that  the  law  would 
constitute  them  such  without  a  will,  and  that  he 
had  not  affection  enough  for  any  one  living  to 
take  the  trouble  of  writing  one. 

To  this  gentleman  came  Bellarmine,  on  the  er- 
rand I  have  mentioned.    His  person,  his   equi- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  163 

page,  his  family,  and  his  estate,  seemed  to  the 
father  to  make  him  an  advantageous  match  for 
his  daughter:  he  therefore  very  readily  accepted 
his  proposals :  but  when  Bellarmine  imagined  the 
principal  affair  concluded,  and  began  to  open  the 
incidental  matters  of  fortune,  the  old  gentleman 
presently  changed  his  countenance,  saying,  ''He 
resolved  never  to  marry  his  daughter  on  a  Smith- 
field  match ;  that  whoever  had  love  for  her  to  take 
her  would,  when  he  died,  find  her  share  of  his  for- 
tune in  his  coffers;  but  he  had  seen  .such  exam- 
ples of  undutifulness  happen  from  the  too  early 
generosity  of  parents,  that  he  had  made  a  vow 
never  to  part  with  a  shilling  whilst  he  lived. ' '  He 
commended  the  saying  of  Solomon,  ''He  that 
spareth  the  rod  spoileth  the  child;"  but  added, 
"he  might  have  likewise  asserted,  That  he  that 
spareth  the  purse  saveth  the  child."  He  then 
ran  into  a  discourse  on  the  extravagance  of  the 
youth  of  the  age;  whence  he  launched  into  a  dis- 
sertation on  horses;  and  came  at  length  to  com- 
mend those  Bellarmine  drove.  That  fine  gentle- 
man, who  at  another  season  would  have  been  well 
enough  pleased  to  dwell  a  little  on  that  subject, 
was  now  very  eager  to  resume  the  circumstance 
of  fortune.  He  said,  "He  had  a  very  high  value 
for  the  young  lady,  and  would  receive  her  with 
less  than  he  would  any  other  whatever;  but  that 
even  his  love  to  her  made  some  regard  to  worldly 
matters  necessary;  for  it  would  be  a  most  dis- 
tracting sight  for  him  to  see  her,  when  he  had 
the  honor  to  be  her  husband,  in  less  than  a  coach 
and  six."    The  old  gentleman  answered,  "Four 


164  THE  HISTORY  OF 

will  do,  four  will  do;"  and  then  took  a  turn  from 
horses  to  extravagance  and  from  extravagance  to 
horses,  till  he  came  round  to  the  equipage  again; 
whither  he  was  no  sooner  arrived  than  Bellarmine 
brought  him  back  to  the  point ;  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose; he  made  his  escape  from  that  subject  in  a 
minute;  till  at  last  the  lover  declared,  "That  in 
the  present  situation  of  his  affairs  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him,  though  he  loved  Leonora  more  than 
tout  le  monde,  to  marry  her  without  any  fortune." 
To  which  the  father  answered,  ''He  was  sorry  that 
his  daughter  must  lose  so  valuable  a  match ;  that, 
if  he  had  an  inclination,  at  present  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  advance  a  shilling:  that  he  had  had 
great  losses,  and  been  at  great  expenses  on  proj- 
ects; which,  though  he  had  great  expectation 
from  them,  had  yet  produced  him  nothing:  that 
he  did  not  know  what  might  happen  hereafter,  as 
on  the  birth  of  a  son,  or  such  accident;  but  he 
would  make  no  promise,  or  enter  into  any  article, 
for  he  would  not  break  his  vow  for  all  the  daugh- 
ters in  the  world. 

In  short,  ladies,  to  keep  you  no  longer  in  sus- 
pense, Bellarmine,  having  tried  every  argument 
and  persuasion  which  he  could  invent,  and  find- 
ing them  all  ineffectual,  at  length  took  his  leave, 
but  not  in  order  to  return  to  Leonora;  he  pro- 
ceeded directly  to  his  own  seat,  whence,  after  a 
few  days'  stay,  he  returned  to  Paris,  to  the  great 
delight  of  the  French  and  the  honor  of  the  Eng- 
lish nation. 

But  as  joon  as  he  arrived  at  his  home  he  pres- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  165 

cntly  dispatched  a  messenger  with  the  following 
epistle  to  Leonora: — 

''Adorable  and  Charmante, — ^I  am  sorry  to 
have  the  honor  to  tell  you  I  am  not  the  heureux 
person  destined  for  your  divine  arms.  Your  papa 
hath  told  me  so  with  a  polUesse  not  often  seen  on 
this  side  Paris.  You  may  perhaps  guess  his  man- 
ner of  refusing  me.  Ah,  mon  Dieu!  You  will  cer- 
tainly believe  me,  madam,  incapable  myself  of  de- 
livering this  triste  message,  which  I  intend  to  try 
the  French  air  to  cure  the  consequences  of.  A 
jamais!  Coeur!  Ange!  Au  diable!  If  your 
papa  obliges  you  to  a  marriage,  I  hope  we  shall 
see  you  at  Paris;  till  when,  the  wind  that  flows 
from  thence  will  be  the  warmest  dmis  le  monde, 
for  it  will  consist  almost  entirely  of  my  sighs. 
Adieu,  ma  princessef    Ah,  V amour  I 

Bellarmine.'* 

I  shall  not  attempt,  ladies,  to  describe  Leonora's 
condition  when  she  received  this  letter.  It  is  a 
picture  of  horror,  which  I  should  have  as  little 
pleasure  in  drawing  as  you  in  beholding.  She 
immediately  left  the  place  where  she  was  the 
subject  of  conversation  and  ridicule,  and  retired 
to  that  house  I  showed  you  when  I  began  the 
story;  where  she  hath  ever  since  led  a  disconso- 
late life,  and  deserves,  perhaps,  pity  for  her  mis- 
fortunes, more  than  our  censure  for  a  behavior 
to  which  the  artifices  of  her  aunt  very  probably 
contributed,  and  to  which  very  young  women  are 


166  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

often  rendered  too  liable  by  that  blamable  levity 
in  the  education  of  our  sex. 

''If  I  was  inclined  to  pity  her,"  said  a  young 
lady  in  the  coach,  ''it  would  be  for  the  loss  of 
Horatio ;  for  I  cannot  discern  any  misfortune  in 
her  missing  such  a  husband  as  Bellarmine." 

"Why,  I  must  own,"  says  Slipslop,  "the  gen- 
tleman was  a  little  false-hearted;  but  howsum- 
ever,  it  was  hard  to  have  two  lovers,  and  get 
never  a  husband  at  all.  But  pray,  madam,  what 
became  of  Our-ashof" 

He  remains,  said  the  lady,  still  unmarried,  and 
hath  applied  himself  so  strictly  to  his  business, 
that  he  hath  raised,  I  hear,  a  very  considerable 
fortune.  And  what  is  remarkable,  they  say  he 
never  hears  the  name  of  Leonora  without  a  sigh, 
nor  hath  ever  uttered  one  syllable  to  charge  her 
with  her  ill-conduct  towards  him. 


CHAPTER  Yll 

A  very  short  chapter,  in  which  parson  Adams  went  a  great 

way. 

THE  lady  having  finished  her  story,  re- 
ceived the  thanks  of  the  company;  and 
now  Joseph,  putting  his  head  out  of  the 
coach,  cried  out,  "Never  believe  me  if  yonder  be 
not  our  parson  Adams  walking  along  without  his 
horse!" — "On  my  word,  and  so  he  is,"  says  Slip- 
slop: "and  as  sure  as  twopence  he  hath  left  him 
behind  at  the  inn."  Indeed,  true  it  is,  the  parson 
had  exhibited  a  fresh  instance  of  his  absence  of 
mind;  for  he  was  so  pleased  with  having  got  Jo- 
seph into  the  coach,  that  he  never  once  thought 
of  the  beast  in  the  stable ;  and,  finding  his  legs  as 
nimble  as  he  desired,  he  sallied  out,  brandishing 
a  crabstick,  and  had  kept  on  before  the  coach, 
mending  and  slackening  his  pace  occasionally,  so 
that  he  had  never  been  much  more  or  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  distant  from  it. 

Mrs.  Slipslop  desired  the  coachman  to  over- 
take him,  which  he  attempted,  but  in  vain ;  for  the 
faster  he  drove  the  faster  ran  the  parson,  often 
crying  out,  "Aye,  aye,  catch  me  if  you  can;"  till 
at  length  the  coachman  swore  he  would  as  soon 
attempt  to  drive  after  a  greyhound,  and,  giving 
the  parson  two  or  three  hearty  curses,  he  cried 

167 


168  THE  HISTORY  OF 

''Softly,  softly,  boys,"  to  his  horses,  which  the 
ci^'il  beasts  immediately  obeyed. 

But  we  will  be  more  courteous  to  our  reader 
than  he  was  to  Mrs.  Slipslop;  and,  leaving  the 
coach  and  its  company  to  pursue  their  journey, 
we  will  carry  our  reader  on  after  parson  Adams, 
who  stretched  forwards  without  once  looking  be- 
hind him,  till,  having  left  the  coach  full  three  miles 
in  his  rear,  he  came  to  a  place  where,  by  keeping 
the  extremest  track  to  the  right,  it  was  just  barely 
possible  for  a  human  creature  to  miss  his  way. 
This  track,  however,  did  he  keep,  as  indeed  he  had 
a  wonderful  capacity  at  these  kinds  of  bare  possi- 
bilities, and,  traveling  in  it  about  three  miles  over 
the  plain,  he  arrived  at  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
whence  looking  a  great  way  backwards,  and  per- 
ceiving no  coach  in  sight,  he  sat  himself  down  on 
the  turf,  and,  pulling  out  his  ^schylus,  deter- 
mined to  wait  here  for  its  arrival. 

He  had  not  sat  long  here  before  a  gun  going 
off  very  near,  a  little  startled  him ;  he  looked  up 
and  saw  a  gentleman  within  a  hundred  paces  tak- 
ing up  a  partridge  which  he  had  just  shot. 

Adams  stood  up  and  presented  a  figure  to  the 
gentleman  which  would  have  moved  laughter  in 
many;  for  his  cassock  had  just  again  fallen  down 
below  his  greatcoat,  that  is  to  say,  it  reached  his 
knees,  whereas  the  skirts  of  his  greatcoat  de- 
scended no  lower  than  half-way  down  his  thighs; 
but  the  gentleman's  mirth  gave  way  to  his  sur- 
prise at  beholding  such  a  personage  in  such  a 
place. 

Adams,  advancing;  to  the  gentleman,  told  him 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  169 

lie  hoped  he  had  good  sport,  to  which  the  other  an- 
swered, ''Very  little." — ''I  see,  sir,"  says  Adams, 
''you  have  smote  one  partridge;"  to  which  the 
sportsman  made  no  reply,  but  proceeded  to  charge 
his  piece. 

Whilst  the  gun  was  charging,  Adams  remained 
in  silence,  which  he  at  last  broke  by  observing 
that  it  was  a  delightful  evening.  The  gentleman, 
who  had  at  first  sight  conceived  a  very  distaste- 
ful opinion  of  the  parson,  began,  on  perceiving  a 
book  in  his  hand  and  smoking  likewise  the  infor- 
mation of  the  cassock,  to  change  his  thoughts,  and 
made  a  small  advance  to  conversation  on  his  side 
by  saying,  "Sir,  I  suppose  you  are  not  one  of 
these  parts?" 

Adams  immediately  told  him,  "No;  that  he  was 
a  traveler,  and  invited  by  the  beauty  of  the  even- 
ing and  the  place  to  repose  a  little  and  amuse 
himself  with  reading." — "I  may  as  well  repose 
myself  too,"  said  the  sportsman,  "for  I  have 
been  out  this  whole  afternooon,  and  the  devil  a 
bird  have  I  seen  till  I  came  hither." 

"Perhaps  then  the  game  is  not  very  plenty  here- 
abouts?" cries  Adams.  "No,  sir,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman: "the  soldiers,  who  are  quartered  in  the 
neighborhood,  have  killed  it  all." — "It  is  very 
probable,"  cries  Adams,  "for  shooting  is  their 
profession." — "Ay,  shooting  the  game,"  an- 
swered the  other;  "but  I  don't  see  they  are  so 
forward  to  shoot  our  enemies.  I  don't  like  that  af- 
fair of  Carthagena ;  if  I  had  been  there,  I  believe 
I  should  have  done  other-guess  things,  d — n  me : 
what's  a  man's  life  when  his  country  demands  it? 


170  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

a  man  who  won't  sacrifice  Ins  life  for  his  country, 
deserves  to  be  hanged,  d — n  me."  Which  words 
he  spoke  with  so  violent  a  gesture,  so  loud  a  voice, 
so  strong  an  accent,  and  so  fierce  a  countenance, 
that  he  might  have  frightened  a  captain  of  trained 
bands  at  the  head  of  his  company ;  but  Mr.  Adams 
was  not  greatly  subject  to  fear;  he  told  him  in- 
trepidly that  he  very  much  approved  his  virtue, 
but  disliked  his  swearing,  and  begged  him  not  to 
addict  himself  to  so  bad  a  custom,  without  which 
he  said  he  might  fight  as  bravely  as  Achilles  did. 
Indeed  he  was  charmed  with  this  discourse;  he 
told  the  gentleman  he  would  willingly  have  gone 
many  miles  to  have  met  a  man  of  his  generous 
way  of  thinking;  that,  if  he  pleased  to  sit  down, 
he  should  be  greatly  delighted  to  commune  with 
him;  for,  though  he  was  a  clergyman,  he  would 
himself  be  ready,  if  thereto  called,  to  lay  down  his 
life  for  his  country. 

The  gentleman  sat  down,  and  Adams  by  him; 
and  then  the  latter  began,  as  in  the  following- 
chapter,  a  discourse  which  we  have  placed  by 
itself,  as  it  is  not  only  the  most  curious  in  this 
but  perhaps  in  any  other  book. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  notable  dissertation  by  Mr.  Abraham  Adams;  wherein  that 
gentleman  appears  in  a  political  light. 


I 


^^~f"  DO  assure  you,  sir"  (says  he,  taking  the 
gentleman  by  the  hand),  '*I  am  heartily 
glad  to  meet  with  a  man  of  your  kidney; 
for,  though  I  am  a  poor  parson,  I  will  be  bold  to 
say  I  am  an  honest  man,  and  would  not  do  an  ill 
thing  to  be  made  a  bishop ;  nay,  though  it  hath  not 
fallen  in  my  way  to  offer  so  noble  a  sacrifice,  I 
have  not  been  without  opportunities  of  suffering 
for  the  sake  of  my  conscience,  I  thank  Heaven  for 
them;  for  I  have  had  relations,  though  I  say  it, 
who  made  some  figure  in  the  world;  particularly 
a  nephew,  who  was  a  shopkeeper  and  an  alderman 
of  a  corporation.  He  was  a  good  lad,  and  was 
under  my  care  when  a  boy ;  and  I  believe  would  do 
what  I  bade  him  to  his  dying  day.  Indeed,  it 
looks  like  extreme  vanity  in  me  to  affect  being  a 
man  of  such  consequence  as  to  have  so  great  an 
interest  in  an  alderman;  but  others  have  thought 
so  too,  as  manifestly  appeared  by  the  rector, 
whose  curate  I  formerly  was,  sending  for  me  on 
the  approach  of  an  election,  and  telling  me,  if  I 
expected  to  continue  in  his  cure,  that  I  must 
bring  my  nephew  to  vote  for  one  Colonel  Courtly, 
a  gentleman  whom  I  had  never  heard  tidings  of 
till  that  instant.    I  told  the  rector  I  had  no  power 

171 


172  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

over  my  nephew's  vote  (God  forgive  me  for  such 
prevarication!);  that  I  supposed  he  would  give 
it  according  to  his  conscience;  that  I  would  by  no 
means  endeavor  to  influence  him  to  give  it  other- 
wise.    He  told  me  it  was  in  vain  to  equivocate; 
that  he  knew  I  had  already  spoke  to  him  in  favor 
of  esquire  Fickle,  my  neighbor;  and,  indeed,  it 
was  true  I  had;  for  it  was  at  a  season  when  the 
church  was  in  danger,  and  when  all  good  men  ex- 
pected they  knew  not  what  would  happen  to  us  all. 
I  then  answered  boldly,  if  he  thought  I  had  given 
my  promise,  he  atfronted  me  in  proposing  any 
breach  of  it.    Not  to  be  too  prolix;  I  persevered, 
and  so  did  my  nephew,  in  the  esquire's  interest, 
who  was  chose  chiefly  through  his  means;  and  so 
I  lost  my  curacy.    Well,  sir,  but  do  you  think  the 
esquire  ever  mentioned  a  word  of  the  church? 
Ne  verhum  quidem,  ut  ita  dicam-.  within  two  years 
he  got  a  place,  and  hath  ever  since  lived  in  Lon- 
don; where  I  have  been  informed  (but  God  forbid 
I  should  believe  that,)  that  he  never  so  much  as 
goeth  to  church.     I  remained,  sir,  a  considerable 
time  without  any  cure,  and  lived  a  full  month  on 
one  funeral  sermon,  which  I  preached  on  the  in- 
disposition of  a  clergyman;  but  this  by  the  bye. 
At  last,  when  Mr.  Fickle  got  his  place.  Colonel 
Courtly  stood  again ;  and  who  should  make  inter- 
est for  him  but  Mr.  Fickle  himself!  that  very 
identical  Mr.  Fickle,  who  had  formerly  told  me 
the  colonel  was  an  enemy  to  both  the  church  and 
state,  had  the  confidence  to  solicit  my  nephew  for 
him ;  and  the  colonel  himself  offered  me  to  make 
me  chaplain  to  his  regiment,  which  I  refused  in  fa- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  173 

vor  of  Sir  Oliver  Hearty,  who  told  us  he  would 
sacrifice  everything  to  his  country;  and  I  believe 
he  would,  except  his  hunting,  which  he  stuck  so 
close  to,  that  in  five  years  together  he  went  but 
twice  up  to  parliament ;  and  one  of  those  times,  I 
have  been  told,  never  was  within  sight  of  the 
House.  However,  he  was  a  worthy  man,  and  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had ;  for,  by  his  interest  with  a 
bishop,  he  got  me  replaced  into  my  curacy,  and 
gave  me  eight  pounds  out  of  his  own  pocket  to 
buy  me  a  gown  and  cassock,  and  furnish  my  house. 
He  had  our  interest  while  he  lived,  which  was  not 
many  years.  On  his  death  I  had  fresh  applica- 
tions made  to  me;  for  all  the  world  knew  the  in- 
terest I  had  with  my  good  nephew,  who  now  was 
a  leading  man  in  the  corporation ;  and  Sir  Thomas 
Booby,  buying  the  estate  which  had  been  Sir 
Oliver's,  proposed  himself  a  candidate.  He  was 
then  a  young  gentleman  just  come  from  his  trav- 
els ;  and  it  did  me  good  to  hear  him  discourse  on 
affairs  which,  for  my  part,  I  knew  nothing  of.  If 
I  had  been  master  of  a  thousand  votes  he  should 
have  had  them  all.  I  engaged  my  nephew  in  his 
interest,  and  he  was  elected ;  and  a  very  fine  par- 
liament-man he  was.  They  tell  me  he  made 
speeches  of  an  hour  long,  and,  I  have  been  told, 
very  fine  ones;  but  he  could  never  persuade  the 
parliament  to  be  of  his  opinion.  Non  omnia  pos- 
siimus  omnes.  He  promised  me  a  living,  poor 
man!  and  I  believe  I  should  have  had  it,  but  an 
accident  happened,  which  was,  that  my  lady  had 
promised  it  before,  unknown  to  him.  This,  in- 
deed,   I    never    heard    till    afterwards;    for    my 


174  THE  HISTORY  OF 

nephew,  who  died  about  a  month  before  the  in- 
cumbent, always  told  me  I  might  be  assured  of  it. 
Since  that  time,  Sir  Thomas,  poor  man,  had  al- 
ways so  much  business,  that  he  never  could  find 
leisure  to  see  me.  I  believe  it  was  partly  my  lady's 
fault  too,  who  did  not  think  my  dress  good  enough 
for  the  gentry  at  her  table.  However,  I  must  do 
him  the  justice  to  say  he  never  was  ungrateful; 
and  I  have  always  found  his  kitchen,  and  his  cellar 
too,  open  to  me:  many  a  time,  after  service 
on  a  Sunday — for  I  preach  at  four  churches 
— have  I  recruited  my  spirits  with  a  glass  of  his 
ale.  Since  my  nephew's  death,  the  corporation 
is  in  other  hands ;  and  I  am  not  a  man  of  that  con- 
sequence I  was  formerly.  I  have  now  no  longer 
any  talents  to  lay  out  in  the  service  of  my  country ; 
and  to  whom  nothing  is  given,  of  him  can  nothing 
be  required.  However,  on  all  proper  seasons, 
such  as  the  approach  of  an  election,  I  throw  a 
suitable  dash  or  two  into  my  sermons;  which  I 
have  the  pleasure  to  hear  is  not  disagreeable  to 
Sir  Thomas  and  the  other  honest  gentleman  my 
neighbors,  who  have  all  promised  me  these  five 
years  to  procure  an  ordination  for  a  son  of  mine, 
who  is  now  near  thirty,  hath  an  infinite  stock  of 
learning,  and  is,  I  thank  Heaven,  of  an  unexcep- 
tionable life;  though,  as  he  was  never  at  an  uni- 
versity, the  bishop  refuses  to  ordain  him.  Too 
much  care  cannot  indeed  be  taken  in  admitting 
any  to  the  sacred  office;  though  I  hope  he  will 
never  act  so  as  to  be  a  disgrace  to  any  order,  but 
will  serve  his  God  and  his  country  to  the  utmost 
of  his  power,  as  I  have  endeavored  to  do  before 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  175 

him;  nay,  and  will  lay  down  his  life  whenever 
called  to  that  purpose.  I  am  sure  I  have  educated 
him  in  those  principles;  so  that  I  have  acquitted 
my  duty,  and  shall  have  nothing  to  answer  for  on 
that  account.  But  I  do  not  distrust  him,  for  he 
is  a  good  boy;  and  if  Providence  should  throw  it 
in  his  way  to  be  of  as  much  consequence  in  a  pub- 
lic light  as  his  father  once  was,  I  can  answer  for 
him  he  will  use  his  talents  as  honestly  as  I  have 
done." 


CHAPTER  IX 

In  which  the  gentleman  discants  on  braveiy  and  heroic  virtue, 
till  an  unlucky  accident  puts  an  end  to  the  discourse. 

THE  gentleman  highly  commended  Mr.  Ad- 
ams for  his  good  resolutions,  and  told 
him,  "He  hoped  his  son  would  tread  in  his 
steps;"  adding,  ''that  if  he  would  not  die  for  his 
country,  he  would  not  be  worthy  to  live  in  it.  I'd 
make  no  more  of  shooting  a  man  that  would  not 
die  for  his  country,  than — 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  have  disinherited  a  nephew, 
who  is  in  the  army,  because  he  would  not  ex- 
change his  commission  and  go  to  the  West  Indies. 
I  believe  the  rascal  is  a  coward,  though  he  pre- 
tends to  be  in  love  forsooth.  I  would  have  all 
such  fellows  hanged,  sir;  I  would  have  them 
hanged."  Adams  answered,  "That  would  be  too 
severe ;  that  men  did  not  make  themselves ;  and  if 
fear  had  too  much  ascendance  in  the  mind,  the 
man  was  rather  to  be  pitied  than  abhorred;  that 
reason  and  time  might  teach  him  to  subdue  it." 
He  said,  "A  man  might  be  a  coward  at  one  time, 
and  brave  at  another.  Homer,"  says  he,  "who 
so  well  understood  and  copied  Nature,  hath  taught 
us  this  lesson;  for  Paris  fights  and  Hector  runs 
away.  Nay,  we  have  a  mighty  instance  of  this 
in  the  history  of  later  ages,  no  longer  ago  than 
the  705th  year  of  Rome,  when  the  great  Pompey, 

176 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  177 

who  bad  won  so  many  battles  and  been  bonored 
witb  so  many  triumpbs,  and  of  wbose  valor  sev- 
eral autbors,  especially  Cicero  and  Paterculus, 
bave  formed  sucli  elogiums;  tbis  very  Pompey 
left  tbe  battle  of  Pbarsalia  before  be  bad  lost  it, 
and  retreated  to  bis  tent,  wbere  he  sat  like  tbe 
most  pusillanimous  rascal  in  a  fit  of  despair,  and 
yielded  a  victory,  wbicb  was  to  determine  tbe 
empire  of  tbe  world,  to  Caesar.  I  am  not  mucb 
traveled  in  tbe  bistory  of  modern  times,  tbat  is  to 
say,  tbese  last  thousand  years ;  but  tbose  wbo  are 
can,  I  make  no  question,  furnish  you  witb  parallel 
instances."  He  concluded,  therefore,  tbat,  had 
he  taken  any  such  hasty  resolutions  against  bis 
nephew,  he  hoped  be  would  consider  better,  and 
retract  them.  Tbe  gentleman  answered  with 
great  warmth,  and  talked  mucb  of  courage  and  his 
country,  till,  perceiving  it  grew  late,  be  asked 
Adams,  ''What  place  be  intended  for  that  night?" 
He  told  him,  '*He  waited  there  for  the  stage- 
coach."— "The  stage-coach,  sir!"  said  tbe  gentle- 
man; ''they  are  all  passed  by  long  ago.  You  may 
see  tbe  last  yourself  almost  three  miles  before 
us." — ''I  protest  and  so  they  are,"  cries  Adams; 
''then  I  must  make  baste  and  follow  them."  The 
gentleman  told  him,  he  would  hardly  be  able  to 
overtake  them;  and  that,  if  be  did  not  know  bis 
way,  be  would  be  in  danger  of  losing  himself  on 
tbe  downs,  for  it  would  be  presently  dark ;  and  he 
might  ramble  about  all  night,  and  perhaps  find 
! himself  farther  from  his  journey's  end  in  the 
morning  than  be  was  now."  He  advised  him, 
j therefore,  "to  accompany  him  to  his  bouse,  which 

1—12 


178  THE  HISTORY  OF 

was  very  little  out  of  his  way,"  assuring  him 
''that  he  would  find  some  country  fellow  in  his 
parish  who  would  conduct  him  for  sixpence  to  the 
city  where  he  was  going."  Adams  accepted  this 
proposal,  and  on  they  traveled,  the  gentleman  re- 
newing his  discourse  on  courage,  and  the  infamy 
of  not  being  ready,  at  all  times,  to  sacrifice  our 
lives  to  our  country.  Night  overtook  them  much 
about  the  same  time  as  they  arrived  near  some 
bushes ;  whence,  on  a  sudden,  they  heard  the  most 
violent  shrieks  imaginable  in  a  female  voice. 
Adams  offered  to  snatch  the  gun  out  of  his  com- 
panion's hand.  "What  are  you  doing!"  said  he. 
* '  Doing ! ' '  said  Adams ;  "  I  am  hastening  to  the  as- 
sistance of  the  poor  creature  whom  some  villains 
are  murdering." — ''You  are  not  mad  enough,  I 
hope,"  says  the  gentleman,  trembling:  "do  you 
consider  this  gun  is  only  charged  with  shot,  and 
that  the  robbers  are  most  probably  furnished 
with  pistols  loaded  with  bullets?  This  is  no  busi- 
ness of  ours;  let  us  make  as  much  haste  as  pos- 
sible out  of  the  way,  or  we  may  fall  into  their 
hands  ourselves."  The  shrieks  now  increasing, 
Adams  made  no  answer,  but  snapped  his  fingers, 
and,  brandishing  his  crabstick,  made  directly  to 
the  place  whence  the  voice  issued ;  and  the  man  of 
courage  made  as  much  expedition  towards  his 
own  home,  whither  he  escaped  in  a  very  short 
time  without  once  looking  behind  him ;  where  we 
will  leave  him,  to  contemplate  his  own  bravery, 
and  to  censure  the  want  of  it  in  others,  and  return 
to  the  good  Adams,  who,  on  coming  up  to  the 
place  whence  the  noise  proceeded,  found  a  woman 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  179 

struggling  with  a  man,  who  had  thrown  her  on 
the  ground,  and  had  almost  overpowered  her. 
The  great  abilities  of  Mr.  Adams  were  not  neces- 
sary to  have  formed  a  right  judgment  of  this  af- 
fair on  the  first  sight.  He  did  not,  therefore, 
want  the  entreaties  of  the  poor  wretch  to  assist 
her;  but,  lifting  up  his  crabstick,  he  immediately 
leveled  a  blow  at  that  part  of  the  ravisher's  head 
where,  according  to  the  opinion  of  the  ancients, 
the  brains  of  some  persons  are  deposited,  and 
which  he  had  undoubtedly  let  forth,  had  not  Na- 
ture (who,  as  wise  men  have  observed,  equips  all 
creatures  with  what  is  most  expedient  for  them) 
taken  a  provident  care  (as  she  always  doth  with 
those  she  intends  for  encounters)  to  make  this 
part  of  the  head  three  times  as  thick  as  those  of 
ordinary  men  who  are  designed  to  exercise  talents 
which  are  vulgarly  called  rational,  and  for  whom, 
as  brains  are  necessary,  she  is  obliged  to  leave 
some  room  for  them  in  the  cavity  of  the  skull; 
whereas,  those  ingredients  being  entirely  useless 
to  persons  of  the  heroic  calling,  she  hath  an  op- 
portunity of  thickening  the  bone,  so  as  to  make 
it  less  subject  to  any  impression,  or  liable  to  be 
cracked  or  broken:  and  indeed,  in  some  who  are 
predestined  to  the  command  of  armies  and  em- 
pires, she  is  supposed  sometimes  to  make  that 
part  perfectly  solid. 

As  a  game  cock,  when  engaged  in  amorous  toy- 
ing with  a  hen,  if  perchance  he  espies  another  cock 
at  hand,  immediately  quits  his  female,  and  op- 
poses himself  to  his  rival,  so  did  the  ravisher,  on 
the  information  of  the  crabstick,  immediately  leap 


180  THE  HISTORY  OF 

from  the  woman  and  hasten  to  assail  the  man. 
He  had  no  weapons  but  what  Nature  had  fur- 
nished him  with.  However,  he  clenched  his  fist, 
and  presently  darted  it  at  that  part  of  Adams's 
breast  where  the  heart  is  lodged.  Adams  stag- 
gered at  the  violence  of  the  blow,  when,  throwing 
away  his  staff,  he  likewise  clenched  that  fist  which 
we  have  before  commemorated,  and  would  have 
discharged  it  full  in  the  breast  of  his  antagonist, 
had  he  not  dexterously  caught  it  with  his  left 
hand,  at  the  same  time  darting  his  head  (which 
some  modern  heroes  of  the  lower  class  use,  like 
the  battering-ram  of  the  ancients,  for  a  weapon  of 
offense;  another  reason  to  admire  the  cunning- 
ness  of  Nature,  in  composing  it  of  those  impene- 
h-able  materials) ;  dashing  his  head,  I  say,  into 
the  stomach  of  Adams,  he  tumbled  him  on  his  back ; 
and,  not  having  any  regard  to  the  laws  of  hero- 
ism, which  would  have  restrained  him  from  any 
farther  attack  on  his  enemy  till  he  was  again  on 
his  legs,  he  threw  himself  upon  him,  and,  laying 
hold  on  the  ground  with  his  left  hand,  he  with  his 
right  belabored  the  body  of  Adams  till  he  was 
weary,  and  indeed  till  he  concluded  (to  use  the 
language  of  fighting)  ''that  he  had  done  his  busi- 
ness;" or,  in  the  language  of  poetry,  ''that  he  had 
sent  him  to  the  shades  below;"  in  plain  English, 
"that  he  was  dead." 

But  Adams,  who  was  no  chicken,  and  could  bear 
a  drubbing  as  well  as  any  boxing  champion  in  the 
universe,  lay  still  only  to  watch  his  opportunity; 
and  now,  perceiving  his  antagonist  to  pant  with 
his  labors,  he  exerted  his  utmost  force  at  once, 


JOSEPH  ANDBEWS  181 

and  with  such  success  that  he  overturned  him,  and 
became  his  superior;  when,  fixing  one  of  his  knees 
in  his  breast,  he  cried  out  in  an  exulting  voice,  ''It 
is  my  turn  now;"  and,  after  a  few  minutes'  con- 
stant application,  he  gave  him  so  dexterous  a 
blow  just  under  his  chin  that  the  fellow  no  longer 
retained  any  motion,  and  Adams  began  to  fear  he 
had  struck  him  once  too  often;  for  he  often  as- 
serted '*he  should  be  concerned  to  have  the  blood 
of  even  the  wicked  upon  him." 

Adams  got  up  and  called  aloud  to  the  young 
woman.  "Be  of  good  cheer,  damsel,"  said  he, 
''you  are  no  longer  in  danger  of  your  ravisher, 
who,  I  am  terribly  afraid,  lies  dead  at  my  feet; 
but  God  forgive  me  what  I  have  done  in  defense 
of  innocence!"  The  poor  wretch,  who  had  been 
some  time  in  recovering  strength  enough  to  rise, 
and  had  afterwards,  during  the  engagerment,  stood 
trembling,  being  disabled  by  fear  even  from  run- 
ning  away,  hearing  her  champion  was  victorious, 
came  up  to  him,  but  not  without  apprehensions 
even  of  her  deliverer;  which,  however,  she  was 
soon  relieved  from  by  his  courteous  behavior  and 
gentle  words.  They  were  both  standing  by  the 
body,  which  lay  motionless  on  the  ground,  and 
which  Adams  wished  to  see  stir  much  more  than 
the  woman  did,  when  he  earnestly  begged  her  to 
tell  him  "by  what  misfortune  she  came,  at  such 
a  time  of  night,  into  so  lonely  a  place. ' '  She  ac- 
quainted him,  "She  was  traveling  towards  Lon- 
don, and  had  accidentally  met  with  the  person  from 
whom  he  had  delivered  her,  who  told  her  he  was 
likewise  on  his  journey  to  the  same  place,  and 


182  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

would  keep  her  company ;  an  offer  which,  suspect- 
ing no  harm,  she  had  accepted;  that  he  told  her 
they  were  at  a  small  distance  from  an  inn  where 
she  might  take  up  her  lodging  that  evening,  and 
he  would  show  her  a  nearer  way  to  it  than  by  fol- 
lowing the  road;  that  if  she  had  suspected  him 
(which  she  did  not,  he  spoke  so  kindly  to  her), 
being  alone  on  these  downs  in  the  dark,  she  had  no 
human  means  to  avoid  him;  that,  therefore,  she 
put  her  whole  trust  in  Providence,  and  walked  on, 
expecting  every  moment  to  arrive  at  the  inn; 
when  on  a  sudden,  being  come  to  those  bushes,  he 
desired  her  to  stop,  and  after  some  rude  kisses, 
which  she  resisted,  and  some  entreaties,  which 
she  rejected,  he  laid  violent  hands  on  her,  and 
was  attempting  to  execute  his  wicked  will,  when, 
she  thanked  G — ,  he  timely  came  up  and  prevented 
him."  Adams  encouraged  her  for  saying  she  had 
put  her  whole  trust  in  Providence,  and  told  her, 
**He  doubted  not  but  Providence  had  sent  him  to 
her  deliverance,  as  a  reward  for  that  trust.  He 
wished  indeed  he  had  not  deprived  the  wicked 
wretch  of  life,  but  G — 's  will  be  done;"  said,  **He 
hoped  the  goodness  of  his  intention  would  excuse 
him  in  the  next  world,  and  he  trusted  in  her  evi- 
dence to  acquit  him  in  this."  He  was  then  silent, 
and  began  to  consider  with  himself  whether  it 
would  be  proper  to  make  his  escape,  or  to  deliver 
himself  into  the  hands  of  justice;  which  medita- 
tion ended  as  the  reader  will  see  in  the  next  chap- 
ter. 


CHAPTER  X 

Giving  an  account  of  the  strange  catastrophe  of  the  preceding 
adventure,  which  drew  poor  Adams  into  fresh  calamities; 
and  who  the  woman  was  who  owed  the  preservation  of  her 
chastity  to  his  victorious  arm. 

THE  silence  of  Adams,  added  to  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  and  loneliness  of  the 
place,  struck  dreadful  apprehension  into 
the  poor  woman's  mind;  she  began  to  fear  as 
great  an  enemy  in  her  deliverer  as  he  had  deliv- 
ered her  from ;  and  as  she  had  not  light  enough  to 
discover  the  age  of  Adams,  and  the  benevolence 
visible  in  his  countenance,  she  suspected  he  had 
used  her  as  some  very  honest  men  have  used  their 
countr}' ;  and  had  rescued  her  out  of  the  hands  of 
one  rifler  in  order  to  rifle  her  himself.  Such  were 
the  suspicions  she  drew  from  his  silence;  but  in- 
deed they  were  ill-grounded.  He  stood  over  his 
vanquished  enemy,  wisely  weighing  in  his  mind 
the  objections  which  might  be  made  to  either  of  the 
two  methods  of  proceeding  mentioned  in  the  last 
chapter,  his  judgment  sometimes  inclining  to  the 
one,  and  sometimes  to  the  other ;  for  both  seemed 
to  him  so  equally  advisable  and  so  equally  danger- 
ous, that  probably  he  would  have  ended  his  days, 
at  least  two  or  three  of  them,  on  that  very  spot, 
before  he  had  taken  any  resolution;  at  length  he 
lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  spied  a  light  at  a  distance, 

183 


]84  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  which  he  instantly  addressed  himself  with  Hens 
tu,  traveler,  hens  tul  He  presently  heard  serveral 
voices,  and  perceived  the  light  approaching  to- 
ward him.  The  persons  who  attended  the  light 
began  some  to  laugh,  others  to  sing,  and  others 
to  hollow,  at  which  the  woman  testified  some  fear 
(for  she  had  concealed  her  suspicions  of  the  par- 
son himself) ;  but  Adams  said,  ''Be  of  good  cheer, 
damsel,  and  repose  thy  trust  in  the  same  Provi- 
dence which  hath  hitherto  protected  thee,  and 
never  will  forsake  the  innocent."  These  people, 
who  now  approached,  were  no  other,  reader,  than 
a  set  of  young  fellows,  who  came  to  these  bushes 
in  pursuit  of  a  diversion  which  they  call  bird-bat- 
ting. This,  if  you  are  ignorant  of  it  (as  perhaps 
if  thou  hast  never  traveled  beyond  Kensington,  Is- 
lington, Hackney^,  or  the  Borough,  thou  mayst 
be),  I  will  inform  thee,  is  performed  by  holding  a 
large  clap-net  before  a  lantern,  and  at  the  same 
time  beating  the  bushes ;  for  the  birds,  when  they 
are  disturbed  from  their  places  of  rest,  or  roost, 
immediately  make  to  the  light,  and  so  are  enticed 
within  the  net.  Adams  immediately  told  them 
what  happened,  and  desired  them  to  hold  the  lan- 
tern to  the  face  of  the  man  on  the  ground,  for  he 
feared  he  had  smote  him  fatally.  But  indeed  his 
fears  were  frivolous;  for  the  fellow,  though  he 
had  been  stunned  by  the  last  blow  he  received, 
had  long  since  recovered  his  senses,  and,  finding 
himself  quit  of  Adams,  had  listened  attentively 
to  the  discourse  between  him  and  the  young 
woman;  for  whose  departure  he  had  patiently 
waited,  that  he  might  likewise  withdraw  himself, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  185 

having  no  longer  hopes  of  succeeding  in  his  de- 
sires, which  were  moreover  almost  as  well  cooled 
by  Mr.  Adams  as  they  could  have  been  by  the 
young  woman  herself  had  he  obtained  his  utmost 
wish.  This  fellow,  who  had  a  readiness  at  improv- 
ing any  accident,  thought  he  might  now  play  a 
better  part  than  that  of  a  dead  man ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, the  moment  the  candle  was  held  to  his  face 
he  leaped  up,  and,  laying  hold  on  Adams,  cried 
out,  ''No,  villain,  I  am  not  dead,  though  you  and 
your  wicked  whore  might  well  think  me  so,  after 
the  barbarous  cruelties  you  have  exercised  on  me. 
Gentlemen,"  said  he,  ''you  are  luckily  come  to  the 
assistance  of  a  poor  traveler,  who  would  other- 
wise have  been  robbed  and  murdered  by  this  vile 
man  and  woman,  who  led  me  hither  out  of  my 
way  from  the  high-road,  and  both  falling  on  me 
have  used  me  as  you  see."  Adams  was  going  to 
ajiswer,  when  one  of  the  young  fellows  cried, 
"D — n  them,  let's  carry  them  both  before  the 
justice."  The  poor  woman  began  to  tremble,  and 
Adams  lifted  up  his  voice,  but  in  vain.  Three  or 
four  of  them  laid  hands  on  him ;  and  one  holding 
the  lantern  to  his  face,  they  all  agreed  he  had  the 
most  villainous  countenance  they  ever  beheld; 
and  an  attorney's  clerk,  who  was  of  the  com- 
pany, declared  he  was  sure  he  had  remembered 
him  at  the  bar.  As  to  the  woman,  her  hair  was 
disheveled  in  the  struggle,  and  her  nose  had  bled ; 
so  that  they  could  not  perceive  whether  she  was 
handsome  or  ugly,  but  they  said  her  fright  plainly 
discovered  her  guilt.  And  searching  her  pockets, 
as  they  did  those  of  Adams,  for  money,  which  the 


186  THE  HTSTOEY  OF 

fellow  said  he  had  lost,  they  found  in  her  pocket 
a  purse  with  some  gold  in  it,  which  abundantly 
convinced  them,  especially  as  the  fellow  offered 
to  swear  to  it.  Mr.  Adams  was  found  to  have  no 
more  than  one  halfpenny  about  him.  This  the 
clerk  said  ''was  a  great  presumption  that  he  was 
an  old  offender,  by  cunningly  giving  all  the  booty 
to  the  woman."  To  which  all  the  rest  readily  as- 
sented. 

This  accident  promising  them  better  sport  than 
what  they  had  proposed,  they  quitted  their  inten- 
tion of  catching  birds,  and  unanimously  resolved 
to  proceed  to  the  justice  with  the  offenders.  Be- 
ing informed  what  a  desperate  fellow  Adams  was, 
they  tied  his  hands  behind  him;  and,  having  hid 
their  nets  among  the  bushes,  and  the  lantern  be- 
ing carried  before  them,  they  placed  the  two  pris- 
oners in  their  front,  and  then  began  their  march; 
Adams  not  only  submitting  patiently  to  his  own 
fate,  but  comforting  and  encouraging  his  compan- 
ion under  her  sufferings. 

Whilst  they  were  on  their  way  the  clerk  in- 
formed the  rest  that  this  adventure  would  prove 
a  very  beneficial  one;  for  that  they  would  all  be 
entitled  to  their  proportions  of  £80  for  apprehend- 
ing the  robbers.  This  occasioned  a  contention 
concerning  the  parts  which  they  had  severally 
borne  in  taking  them;  one  insisting  he  ought  to 
have  the  greatest  share,  for  he  had  first  laid  his 
hands  on  Adams;  another  claiming  a  superior 
part  for  having  first  held  the  lantern  to  the  man's 
face  on  the  ground,  by  which,  he  said,  "the  whole 
was  discovered."    The  clerk  claimed  four-fifths 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  187 

of  the  reward  for  having  proposed  to  search  the 
prisoners,  and  likewise  the  carrying  them  before 
the  justice:  he  said,  "Indeed,  in  strict  justice,  he 
ought  to  have  the  whole."  These  claims,  how- 
ever, they  at  last  consented  to  refer  to  a  future 
decision,  but  seemed  all  to  agree  that  the  clerk 
was  entitled  to  a  moiety.  They  then  debated  what 
money  should  be  allotted  to  the  young  fellow  who 
had  been  employed  only  in  holding  the  nets.  He 
very  modestly  said,  "That  he  did  not  apprehend 
any  large  proportion  would  fall  to  his  share,  but 
hoped  they  would  allow  him  something;  he  de- 
sired them  to  consider  that  they  had  assigned 
their  nets  to  his  care,  which  prevented  him  from 
being  as  forward  as  any  in  laying  hold  of  the  rob- 
bers" (for  so  those  innocent  people  were  called) ; 
"that  if  he  had  not  occupied  the  nets,  some  other 
must;"  concluding,  however,  "that  he  should  be 
contented  with  the  smallest  share  imaginable,  and 
should  think  that  rather  their  bounty  than  his 
merit."  But  they  were  all  unanimous  in  exclud- 
ing him  from  any  part  whatever,  the  clerk  par- 
ticularly swearing,  "If  they  gave  him  a  shilling 
they  might  do  what  they  pleased  with  the  rest; 
for  he  would  not  concern  himself  with  the  affair. ' ' 
This  contention  was  so  hot,  and  so  totally  engaged 
the  attention  of  all  the  parties,  that  a  dexterous 
nimble  thief,  had  he  been  in  Mr,  Adams 's  situation, 
would  have  taken  care  to  have  given  the  justice 
no  trouble  that  evening.  Indeed,  it  required  not 
the  art  of  a  Sheppard  to  escape,  especially  as  the 
darkness  of  the  night  would  have  so  much  be- 
friended him;  but  Adams  trusted  rather  to  his 


188  THE  HISTORY  OF 

innocence  than  his  heels,  and,  without  thinking 
of  flight,  which  was  easy,  or  resistance  (which  was 
impossible,  as  there  were  six  lusty  young  fellows, 
besides  the  villain  himself,  present),  he  walked 
with  perfect  resignation  the  way  they  thought 
proper  to  conduct  him. 

Adams  frequenth^  vented  himself  in  ejacula- 
tions during  their  journey;  at  last,  poor  Joseph 
Andrews  occurring  to  his  mind,  he  could  not  re- 
frain sighing  forth  his  name,  which  being  heard 
by  his  companion  in  affliction,  she  cried  with  some 
vehemence,  '^Sure  I  should  know  that  voice;  you 
cannot  certainly,  sir,  be  Mr.  Abraham  Adams?" 
— "Indeed,  damsel,"  says  he,  "that  is  my  name; 
there  is  something  also  in  your  voice  which  per- 
suades me  I  have  heard  it  before." — '"La!  sir," 
says  she,  "don't  you  remember  poor  Fanny?" — 
"How,  Fanny!"  answered  Adams:  "indeed  I 
very  well  remember  you ;  what  can  have  brought 
you  hither?" — "I  have  told  you,  sir,"  replied  she, 
"I  was  traveling  towards  London;  but  I  thought 
you  mentioned  Joseph  Andrews ;  pray  what  is  be- 
come of  him?" — "I  left  him,  child,  this  after- 
noon," said  Adams,  "in  the  stage-coach,  in  his 
way  towards  our  parish,  whither  he  is  going  to  see 
you." — "To  see  me!  La,  sir,"  answered  Fanny, 
"sure  you  jeer  me ;  what  should  he  be  going  to  see 
me  for?" — "Can  you  ask  that?"  replied  Adams. 
"I  hope,  Fanny,  you  are  not  inconstant;  I  assure 
you  he  deserves  much  better  of  you." — "La!  Mr. 
Adams,"  said  she,  "what  is  Mr.  Joseph  to  me? 
I  am  sure  I  never  had  anything  to  say  to  him, 
but  as  one  fellow-servant  might  to  another." — "I 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  189 

am  sorry  to  hear  this,"  said  Adams;  ''a  virtuous 
passion  for  a  young  man  is  what  no  woman  need 
be  ashamed  of.  You  either  do  not  tell  me  truth, 
or  you  are  false  to  a  very  worthy  man."  Adams 
then  told  her  what  had  happened  at  the  inn,  to 
which  she  listened  very  attentively;  and  a  sigh 
often  escaped  from  her,  notwithstanding  her  ut- 
most endeavors  to  the  contrary;  nor  could  she 
prevent  herself  from  asking  a  thousand  questions, 
which  would  have  assured  any  one  but  Adams, 
who  never  saw  farther  into  people  than  they  de- 
sired to  let  him,  of  the  truth  of  a  passion  she  en- 
deavored to  conceal.  Indeed,  the  fact  was,  that 
this  poor  girl,  having  heard  of  JoseiDh's  misfor- 
tune, by  some  of  the  servants  belonging  to  the 
coach  which  we  have  formerly  mentioned  to  have 
stopped  at  the  inn  while  the  poor  youth  was  con- 
fined to  his  bed,  that  instant  abandoned  the  cow 
she  was  milking,  and,  taking  with  her  a  little  bun- 
dle of  clothes  under  her  arm,  and  all  the  money 
she  was  worth  in  her  own  purse,  without  consulting 
any  one,  immediately  set  forward  in  pursuit  of 
one  whom,  notwithstanding  her  shyness  to  the 
parson,  she  loved  with  inexpressible  violence, 
though  with  the  purest  and  most  delicate  passion. 
This  shyness,  therefore,  as  we  trust  it  will  recom- 
mend her  character  to  all  our  female  readers,  and 
not  greatly  surprise  such  of  our  males  as  are  well 
acquainted  with  the  younger  part  of  the  other  sex, 
we  shall  not  give  ourselves  any  trouble  to  vindi- 
cate. 


CHAPTER  XI 

What  happened  to  them  while  before  the  justice.     A  chapter 
very  full  of  learning. 

THEIR  fellow-travelers  were  so  engaged  in 
the  hot  dispute  concerning  the  division 
of  the  reward  for  apprehending  these  in- 
nocent people,  that  they  attended  very  little  to 
their  discourse.  They  were  now  arrived  at  the 
justice's  house,  and  had  sent  one  of  his  servants 
in  to  acquaint  his  worship  that  they  had  taken  two 
robbers  and  brought  them  before  him.  The  jus- 
tice, who  was  just  returned  from  a  fox-chase,  and 
had  not  yet  finished  his  dinner,  ordered  them  to 
carry  the  prisoners  into  the  stable,  whither  they 
were  attended  by  all  the  ser\^ants  in  the  house,  and 
all  the  people  in  the  neighborhood,  who  flocked 
together  to  see  them  with  as  much  curiosity  as  if 
there  was  something  uncommon  to  be  seen,  or 
that  a  rogue  did  not  look  like  other  people. 

The  justice,  now  being  in  the  height  of  his  mirth 
and  his  cups,  berthought  himself  of  the  prisoners ; 
and,  telling  his  company  he  believed  they  should 
have  good  sport  in  their  examination,  he  ordered 
them  into  his  presence.  They  had  no  sooner  en- 
tered the  room  than  he  began  to  revile  them,  say- 
ing, ''That  robberies  on  the  highway  were  now 
grown  so  frequent,  that  people  could  not  sleep 
safely  in  their  beds,  and  assured  them  they  both 

190 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  19l 

should  be  made  examples  of  at  the  ensuing  as- 
sizes." After  he  had  gone  on  sometime  in  this 
manner,  he  was  reminded  by  his  clerk,  "That  it 
would  be  proper  to  take  the  depositions  of  the  wit- 
nesses against  them."  Which  he  bid  him  do,  and 
he  would  light  his  pipe  in  the  meantime.  Whilst 
the  clerk  was  employed  in  writing  down  the  depo- 
sition of  the  fellow  who  had  pretended  to  be 
robbed,  the  justice  employed  himself  in  cracking 
jests  on  poor  Fanny,  in  which  he  was  seconded  by 
all  the  company  at  table.  One  asked,  "Whether 
she  was  to  be  indicted  for  a  highwayman?"  An- 
other whispered  in  her  ear,  "If  she  had  not  pro- 
vided herself  a  great  belly,  he  was  at  her  service." 
A  third  said,  "He  warranted  she  was  a  relation  of 
Turpin."  To  which  one  of  the  company,  a  great 
wit,  shaking  his  head,  and  then  his  sides,  answered, 
"He  believed  she  was  nearer  related  to  Turpis;" 
at  which  there  was  an  universal  laugh.  They 
were  proceeding  thus  with  the  poor  girl,  when 
somebody,  smoking  the  cassock  peeping  forth 
from  under  the  greatcoat  of  Adams,  cried  out, 
"What  have  we  here,  a  parson?"  "How,  sir- 
rah," says  the  justice,  "do  you  go  robbing  in  the 
dress  of  a  clergyman?  let  me  tell  you  your  habit 
will  not  entitle  you  to  the  benefit  of  the  clergy." 
"Yes,"  said  the  witty  fellow,  "he  will  have  one 
benefit  of  clergy,  he  will  be  exalted  above  the 
heads  of  the  people;"  at  which  there  was  a  sec- 
ond laugh.  And  now  the  witty  spark,  seeing  his 
jokes  take,  began  to  rise  in  spirits;  and,  turning 
to  Adams,  challenged  him  to  cap  verses,  and,  pro- 
voking him  by  giving  the  first  blow,  he  repeated — 


192  THE  HISTORY  OF 

"MoUe  meum  levibus  cord  est  vilehile  telisJ' 

Upon  which  Adams,  with  a  look  full  of  ineffable 
contempt,  told  him,  "He  deserved  scourging  for 
his  pronunciation."  The  witty  fellow  answered, 
"What  do  you  deserve,  doctor,  for  not  being  able 
to  answer  the  first  time?  Why,  I'll  give  one,  you 
blockhead,  with  an  S. 

"  'Si  licet,  ut  fiilvum  spectatur  in  ignibus  haurum.' 

"What,  canst  not  with  an  M  neither?  Thou  art 
a  pretty  fellow  for  a  parson !  Why  didst  not  steal 
some  of  the  parson's  Latin  as  well  as  his  gown?" 
Another  at  the  table  then  answered,  "If  he  had, 
you  would  have  been  too  hard  for  him;  I  remem- 
ber you  at  the  college  a  very  devil  at  this  sport; 
I  have  seen  you  catch  a  freshman,  for  nobody  that 
knew  you  would  engage  with  j^ou,"  "I  have  for- 
got those  things  now,"  cried  the  wit.  "I  believe 
I  could  have  done  pretty  well  formerly.  Let's  see, 
what  did  I  end  with? — an  M  again — aye 

"  'Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo,  virorum.' 

I  could  have  done  it  once."  "Ah!  evil  betide 
you,  and  so  you  can  now,"  said  the  other:  "no- 
body in  this  country  will  undertake  you."  Adams 
could  hold  no  longer:  "Friend,"  said  he,  "I 
have  a  boy  not  above  eight  years  old  who  would 
instruct  thee  that  the  last  verse  runs  thus: — 

"'Vt  sunt  Divorum,  Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo,  virorum.'" 

"I'll  hold  thee  a  guinea  of  that,"  said  the  wit, 
throwing  the  money  on  the  table.    "And  I'll  go 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  193 

your  halves,"  cries  the  other.  *'Done,"  answered 
Adams;  but  upon  applying  to  his  pocket  he  was 
forced  to  retract^  and  own  he  had  no  money  about 
him ;  which  set  them  all  a-laughing,  and  confirmed 
the  triumph  of  his  adversary,  which  was  not  mod- 
erate, any  more  than  the  approbation  he  met  with 
from  the  whole  company,  who  told  Adams  he  must 
go  a  little  longer  to  school  before  he  attempted  to 
attack  that  gentleman  in  Latin. 

The  clerk,  having  finished  the  depositions,  as 
well  of  the  fellow  himself,  as  of  those  who  appre- 
hended the  prisoners,  delivered  them  to  the  jus- 
tice; who,  having  sworn  the  several  witnesses 
without  reading  a  syllable,  ordered  his  clerk  to 
make  the  mittimus. 

Adams  then  said,  *'He  hoped  he  should  not  be 
condemned  unheard."  ''No,  no,"  cries  the  jus- 
tice, ''you  will  be  asked  what  you  have  to  say  for 
yourself  when  you  come  on  your  trial :  we  are  not 
tiying  you  now;  I  shall  only  commit  you  to  jail: 
if  you  can  prove  your  innocence  at  'size,  you  will 
be  found  ignoramus,  and  so  no  harm  done." 
"Is  it  no  punishment,  sir,  for  an  innocent  man  to 
lie  several  months  in  jail?  "  cries  Adams:  "I 
beg  you  would  at  least  hear  me  before  you  sign 
the  mittimus."  "What  signifies  all  you  can 
say?"  says  the  justice:  "is  it  not  here  in  black  and 
white  against  you?  I  must  tell  you  you  are  a 
very  impertinent  fellow  to  take  up  so  much  of  my 
time.     So  make  haste  with  his  mittimus." 

The  clerk  now  acquainted  the  justice  that  among 
other  suspicious  things,  as  a  penknife,  &c.,  found 
in  Adams's  pocket,  they  had  discovered  a  book 

1—13 


194  THE  HISTORY  OF 

written,  as  he  appreliende3,  in  ciphers ;  for  no  one 
could  read  a  word  in  it.  ''Ay,"  says  the  justice, 
''the  fellow  may  be  more  than  a  common  robber, 
he  may  be  in  a  plot  against  the  Government.  Pro- 
duce the  book."  Upon  which  the  poor  manu- 
scrijot  of  ^schylus,  which  Adams  had  transcribed 
with  his  own  hand,  was  brought  forth;  and  the 
justice,  looking  at  it,  shook  his  head,  and,  turning 
to  the  prisoner,  asked  the  meaning  of  those  ci- 
phers. "Ciphers'?"  answered  Adams,  "it  is  a 
manuscript  of  ^schylus."  "Who?  who?"  said 
the  justice.  Adams  repeated,  "^schylus." 
"That  is  an  outlandish  name,"  cried  the  clerk. 
"A  fictitious  name  rather,  I  believe,"  said  the  jus- 
tice. One  of  the  company  declared  it  looked  very 
much  like  Greek.  "Greek?"  said  the  justice; 
"why,  'tis  all  writing."  "No,"  says  the  other, 
"I  don't  positively  say  it  is  so;  for  it  is  a  very 
long  time  since  I  have  seen  any  Greek." 
"There's  one,"  says  he,  turning  to  the  parson  of 
the  parish,  who  was  present,  "will  tell  us  imme- 
diately." The  parson,  taking  up  the  book,  and 
putting  on  his  spectacles  and  gravity  together, 
muttered  some  words  to  himself,  and  then  pro- 
nounced aloud — "Ay,  indeed,  it  is  a  Greek  manu- 
script ;  a  very  fine  piece  of  antiquity.  I  make  no 
doubt  but  it  was  stolen  from  the  same  clergyman 
from  whom  the  rogue  took  the  cassock."  "What 
did  the  rascal  mean  by  his  ^schylus?"  says  the 
justice.  "Pooh!"  answered  the  doctor,  with  a 
contemptuous  grin,  "do  you  think  that  fellow 
knows  anything  of  this-book?  ^schylus !  ho !  ho  I 
I  see  now  what  it  is — a  manuscript  of  one  of  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  195 

fathers.  I  know  a  nobleman  who  would  give  a 
great  deal  of  money  for  such  a  piece  of  antiquity. 
•Aj)  ^y>  question  and  answer.  The  beginning  is 
the    catechism   in    Greek.    Ay,    ay,    Pollaki   toi: 

What's    your    name?" "Ay,     what's    your 

name?"  says  the  justice  to  Adams;  who  answered, 
*'It  is  ^schylus,  and  I  will  maintain  it." — ''Oh! 
it  is,"  says  the  justice;  ''make  Mr.  ^schylus  his 
mittimus.  I  will  teach  you  to  banter  me  with  a 
false  name." 

One  of  the  company,  having  looked  steadfastly 
at  Adams,  asked  him,  "If  he  did  not  know  Lady 
Booby?"  Upon  which  Adams,  presently  called 
him  to  mind,  answered  in  a  rapture,  "0  squire! 
are  you  there?  I  believe  you  will  inform  his  wor- 
ship I  am  innocent." — "I  can  indeed  say,"  replied 
the  squire,  "that  I  am  very  much  surprised  to 
see  you  in  this  situation:"  and  then,  addressing 
himself  to  the  justice,  he  said,  "Sir,  I  assure  you 
Mr.  Adams  is  a  clergyman,  as  he  appears,  and  a 
gentleman  of  very  good  character.  I  wish  you 
would  inquire  a  little  farther  into  this  affair ;  for 
I  am  convinced  of  his  innocence." — "Nay,"  says 
the  justice,  "if  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  you  are  sure 
he  is  innocent,  I  don't  desire  to  commit  him,  not 
I:  I  will  commit  the  woman  by  herself,  and  take 
your  bail  for  the  gentleman:  look  into  the  book, 
clerk,  and  see  how  it  is  to  take  bail — come — and 
make  the  mittimus  for  the  woman  as  fast  as  you 
can." — "Sir,"  cries  Adams,  "I  assure  you  she  is 
as  innocent  as  mj^self." — "Perhaps,"  said  the 
squire,  "there  may  be  some  mistake!  pray  let  us 
hear   Mr.   Adams's    relation." — "With   all   my 


196  THE  HISTORY  OF 

heart,"  answerred  the  justice;  **aud  give  the  gen- 
tleman a  glass  to  wet  his  whistle  before  he  be- 
gins. I  know  how  to  behave  myself  to  gentlemen 
as  well  as  another.  Nobody  can  say  I  have  com- 
mitted a  gentleman  since  I  have  been  in  the  com- 
mission." Adams  then  began  the  narrative,  in 
which,  though  he  was  very  prolix,  he  was  uninter- 
rupted, unless  by  several  hums  and  hahs  of  the 
justice,  and  his  desire  to  repeat  those  parts  which 
seemed  to  him  most  material.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished, the  justice,  who,  on  what  the  squire  had 
said,  believed  every  syllable  of  his  story  on  his 
bare  affirmation,  notwithstanding  the  depositions 
on  oath  to  the  contrary,  began  to  let  loose  several 
rogues  and  rascals  against  the  witness,  whom  he 
ordered  to  stand  forth,  but  in  vain;  the  said  wit- 
ness, long  since  finding  what  turn  matters  were 
likely  to  take,  had  privily  withdrawn,  without  at- 
tending the  issue.  The  justice  now  flew  into  a 
violent  passion,  and  was  hardly  prevailed  with  not 
to  commit  the  innocent  fellows  who  had  been  im- 
posed on  as  well  as  himself.  He  swore,  ''They 
had  best  find  out  the  fellow  who  was  guilty  of  per- 
jury, and  bring  him  before  him  within  two  days, 
or  he  would  bind  them  all  over  to  their  good  be- 
havior." They  all  promised  to  use  their  best  en- 
deavors to  that  purpose,  and  were  dismissed. 
Then  the  justice  insisted  that  Mr.  Adams  should 
sit  down  and  take  a  glass  with  him ;  and  the  par- 
son of  the  parish  delivered  him  back  the  manu- 
script without  saying  a  word;  nor  would  Adams, 
who  plainly  discerned  his  ignorance,  expose  it. 
As  for  Fanny,  she  was,  at  her  own  request,  recom- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  197 

mended  to  tbe  care  of  a  maid-servant  of  the  house, 
who  helped  her  to  new  dress  and  clean  herself. 

The  company  in  the  parlor  had  not  been  long 
seated  before  they  were  alarmed  with  a  horrible 
uproar  from  without,  where  the  persons  who  had 
apprehended  Adams  and  Fanny  had  been  regaling, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  house,  with  the 
justice's  strong  beer.  These  were  all  fallen  to- 
gether by  the  ears,  and  were  cuffing  each  other 
without  any  mercy.  The  justice  himself  sallied 
out,  and  with  the  dignity  of  his  presence  soon  put 
an  end  to  the  fray.  On  his  return  into  the  parlor, 
he  reported,  "That  the  occasion  of  the  quarrel 
was  no  other  than  a  dispute  to  whom,  if  Adams 
had  been  convicted,  the  gi^eater  share  of  the  re- 
ward for  apprehending  him  had  belonged."  All 
the  company  laughed  at  this,  except  Adams,  who, 
taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  fetched  a  deep 
groan,  and  said,  "He  was  concerned  to  see  so  liti- 
gious a  temper  in  men.  That  he  remembered  a 
story  something  like  it  in  one  of  the  parishes  where 
his  cure  lay: — There  was,"  continued  he,  "a  com- 
petition between  three  young  fellows  for  the  place 
of  the  clerk,  which  I  disposed  of,  to  the  best  of  my 
abilities,  according  to  merit;  that  is,  I  gave  it  to 
him  who  had  the  happiest  knack  at  setting  a  psalm. 
The  clerk  was  no  sooner  established  in  his  place 
than  a  contention  began  between  the  two  disap- 
pointed candidates  concerning  their  excellence; 
each  contending  on  whom,  had  they  two  been  the 
only  competitors,  my  election  would  have  fallen. 
This  dispute  frequently  disturbed  the  congrega- 
tion, and  introduced  a  discord  into  the  psalmody, 


198  THE  HISTORY  OF 

till  I  was  forced  to  silence  them  both.  But,  alas ! 
the  litigious  spirit  could  not  be  stifled ;  and,  being 
no  longer  able  to  vent  itself  in  singing,  it  now 
broke  forth  in  fighting.  It  produced  many  battles 
(for  they  were  very  near  a  match),  and  I  believe 
would  have  ended  fatally,  had  not  the  death  of  the 
clerk  given  me  an  opportunity  to  promote  one  of 
them  to  his  place;  which  presently  put  an  end  to 
the  dispute,  and  entirely  reconciled  the  contending 
parties."  Adams  then  proceeded  to  make  some 
philosophical  observations  on  the  folly  of  growing 
warm  in  disputes  in  which  neither  party  is  inter- 
ested. He  then  applied  himself  vigorously  to 
smoking ;  and  a  long  silence  ensued,  which  was  at 
length  broke  by  the  justice,  who  began  to  sing 
forth  his  own  praises,  and  to  value  himself  exceed- 
ingly on  his  nice  discernment  in  the  cause  which 
had  lately  been  before  him.  He  was  quickly  in- 
terrupted by  Mr.  Adams,  between  whom  and  his 
worshii3  a  dispute  now  arose,  whether  he  ought 
not,  in  strictness  of  law,  to  have  committed  him, 
the  said  Adams ;  in  which  the  latter  maintained  he 
ought  to  have  been  committed,  and  the  justice  as 
vehemently  held  he  ought  not.  This  had  most 
probably  produced  a  quarrel  (for  both  were 
very  violent  and  positive  in  their  opinions), 
had  not  Fanny  accidentally  heard  that  a  young 
fellow  was  going  from  the  justice's  house  to 
the  very  inn  where  the  stage-coach  in  which 
Joseph  was,  put  up.  Upon  this  news,  she  im- 
mediately sent  for  the  parson  out  of  the  par- 
lor. Adams,  when  he  found  her  resolute  to 
go   (though  she  would  not  own  the  reason,  but 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  199 

pretended  she  could  not  bear  to  see  the  faces  of 
those  who  had  suspected  her  of  such  a  crime),  was 
as  fully  determined  to  go  with  her ;  he  accordingly 
took  leave  of  the  justice  and  company:  and  so 
ended  a  dispute  in  which  the  law  seemed  shame- 
fully to  intend  to  set  a  magistrate  and  a  divine  to- 
gether by  the  ears. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

A  very  delightful  adventure,  as  well  to  the  persons  concerned 
as  to  the  good-natured  reader. 

ADAMS,  Fanny,  and  the  guide,  set  out  to- 
gether about  one  in  the  morning,  the  moon 
being  then  just  risen.  They  had  not  gone 
above  a  mile  before  a  most  violent  storm  of  rain 
obliged  them  to  take  shelter  in  an  inn,  or  rather 
alehouse,  where  Adams  immediately  procured  him- 
self a  good  fire,  a  toast  and  ale,  and  a  pipe,  and 
began  to  smoke  with  great  content,  utterly  forget- 
ting everything  that  had  happened. 

Fanny  sat  likewise  down  by  the  fire;  but  was 
much  more  impatient  at  the  storm.  She  presently 
engaged  the  eyes  of  the  host,  his  wife,  the  maid  of 
the  house,  and  the  young  fellow  who  was  their 
guide ;  they  all  conceived  they  had  never  seen  any- 
thing half  so  handsome ;  and  indeed,  reader,  if  thou 
art  of  an  amorous  hue,  I  advise  thee  to  skip  over 
the  next  paragraph;  which,  to  render  our  history 
perfect,  we  are  obliged  to  set  down,  humbly  hoping 
that  we  may  escape  the  fate  of  Pygmalion ;  for  if 
it  should  happen  to  us,  or  to  thee,  to  be  struck  with 
this  picture,  we  should  be  perhaps  in  as  helpless  a 
condition  as  Narcissus,  and  might  say  to  ourselves, 
Quod  petis  est  nusquam.  Or,  if  the  finest  fea- 
tures in  it  should  set  Lady  's  image  before 

our  eyes,  we  should  be  still  in  as  bad  a  situation, 

200 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  201 

and    might    say    to    onr    desires,    Ccelum   ipsum 
petimus  stuUitia. 

Fanny  was  now  in  the  nineteenth  year  of  her 
age;  she  was  tall  and  delicately  shaped;  but  not 
one  of  those  slender  young  women  who  seem  rather 
intended  to  hang  up  in  the  hall  of  an  anatomist 
than  for  any  other  purpose.  On  the  contrary,  she 
was  so  plump  that  she  seemed  bursting  through 
her  tight  stays,  especially  in  the  part  which  con- 
fined her  swelling  breasts.  Nor  did  her  hips  want 
the  assistance  of  a  hoop  to  extend  them.  The  ex- 
act shape  of  her  arms  denoted  the  form  of  those 
limbs  which  she  concealed;  and  though  they  were 
a  little  reddened  by  her  labor,  yet,  if  her  sleeve 
slipped  above  her  elbow,  or  her  handkerchief  dis- 
covered any  part  of  her  neck,  a  whiteness  ap- 
peared which  the  finest  Italian  paint  would  be  un- 
able to  reach.  Her  hair  was  of  a  chestnut  brown, 
and  nature  had  been  extremely  lavish  to  her  of  it, 
which  she  had  cut,  and  on  Sundays  used  to  curl 
down  her  neck,  in  the  modern  fashion.  Her  fore- 
head was  high,  her  eyebrows  arched,  and  rather 
full  than  otherwise.  Her  eyes  black  and  spark- 
ling ;  her  nose  just  inclining  to  the  Roman ;  her  lips 
red  and  moist,  and  her  underlip,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  the  ladies,  too  pouting.  Her  teeth  were 
white,  but  not  exactly  even.  The  small-pox  had 
left  one  only  mark  on  her  chin,  which  was  so  large, 
it  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  dimple,  had  not 
her  left  cheek  produced  one  so  near  a  neighbor  to 
it,  that  the  former  served  only  for  a  foil  to  the 
latter.  Her  complexion  was  fair,  a  little  injured 
by  the  sun,  but  overspread  with  such  a  bloom  that 


202  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  finest  ladies  would  have  exchanged  all  their 
white  for  it :  add  to  these  a  countenance  in  which, 
though  she  was  extremely  bashful,  a  sensibility  ap- 
peared almost  incredible;  and  a  sweetness,  when- 
ever she  smiled,  beyond  either  imitation  or  de- 
scription. To  conclude  all,  she  had  a  natural  gen- 
tility, superior  to  the  acquisition  of  art,  and  which 
surprised  all  who  beheld  her. 

This  lovely  creature  was  sitting  by  the  fire  with 
Adams,  when  her  attention  was  suddenly  engaged 
by  a  voice  from  an  inner  room,  which  sung  the  fol- 
lowing song : — 

THE  SONG. 

Say,  Chloe,  where  must  the  swain  stray 

Who  is  by  thy  beauties  undone? 
To  wash  their  remembrance  away, 

To  what  distant  Lethe  must  run? 
The  wretch  who  is  sentenced  to  die 

May  escape,  and  leave  justice  behind; 
From  his  country  perhaps  he  may  fly, 

But  oh!  can  he  fly  from  his  mind? 

0  rapture!  imthought  of  before, 

To  be  thus  of  Chloe  possess'd; 
Nor  she,  nor  no  tyrant's  hard  power. 

Her  image  can  tear  from  my  breast. 
But  felt  not  Narcissus  more  joy, 

With  his  eyes  he  beheld  his  loved  charms? 
Yet  what  he  beheld  the  fond  boy 

More  eagerly  wish'd  in  his  anns. 

How  can  it  thy  dear  image  be 

Which  fills  thus  my  bosom  with  woe? 

Can  aught  bear  resemblance  to  thee 
Which  grief  and  not  joy  can  bestow? 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  203 

This  counterfeit  snatch  from  my  heart, 
Ye  pow'rs,  tho'  with  torment  I  rave, 

Tho'  mortal  will  prove  the  fell  smart: 
I  then  shall  find  rest  in  my  grave. 

Ah,  see  the  dear  nymph  o'er  the  plain 

Come  smiling  and  tripping  along! 
A  thousand  Loves  dance  in  her  train. 

The  Graces  around  her  all  throng. 
To  meet  her  soft  Zephyrus  flies. 

And  wafts  all  the  sweets  from  the  flowers, 
Ah,  rogTie !  whilst  he  kisses  her  eyes, 

More  sweets  from  her  breath  he  devours. 

My  soul,  whilst  I  gaze,  is  on  fire : 

But  her  looks  were  so  tender  and  kmd. 
My  hope  almost  reaeh'd  my  desire, 

And  left  lame  despair  far  behind. 
Transported  with  madness,  I  flew, 

And  eagerly  seized  on  my  bliss; 
Her  bosom  but  half  she  withdrew, 

But  half  she  refused  my  fond  kiss 

Advances  like  these  made  me  bold; 

I  whispei-'d  her — Love,   we're   alone. — 
The  rest  let  immortals  unfold ; 

No  language  can  tell  but  their  own. 
Ah,  Chloe,  expiring,  I  cried, 

How  long  I  thy  cruelty  bore! 
Ah,  Strephon,  she  blushing  replied, 

You  ne'er  was  so  pressmg  before. 

Adams  had  been  ruminating  all  this  time  on  a 
passage  in  ^schylus,  without  attending  in  the 
least  to  the  voice,  though  one  of  the  most  melodi- 
ous that  ever  was  heard,  when,  casting  his  eyes  on 
Fanny,  he  cried  out,  '*  Bless  us,  you  look  extremely 
pale!" — 'Tale!    Mr.    Adams,"    says    shej    ''6. 


204  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Jesus!"  and  fell  backwards  in  her  chair.  Adams 
jumped  up,  flung  his  uEschylus  into  the  fire,  and 
fell  a-roaring  to  the  people  of  the  house  for  help. 
He  soon  summoned  every  one  into  the  room,  and 
the  songster  among  the  rest ;  but,  0  reader !  when 
this  nightingale,  who  was  no  other  than  Joseph 
Andrews  himself,  saw  his  beloved  Fanny  in  the  sit- 
uation we  have  described  her,  canst  thou  conceive 
the  agitations  of  his  mind?  If  thou  canst  not, 
waive  that  meditation  to  behold  his  happiness, 
when,  clasping  her  in  his  arms,  he  found  life  and 
blood  returning  into  her  cheeks :  when  he  saw  her 
open  her  beloved  eyes,  and  heard  her  with  the 
softest  accent  whisper,  "Are  you  Joseph  An- 
drews?"— ''Art  thou  my  Fanny?"  he  answered 
eagerly :  and,  pulling  her  to  his  heart,  he  imprinted 
numberless  kisses  on  hei*  lips,  without  considering 
who  were  present. 

If  prudes  are  offended  at  the  lusciousness  of 
this  picture,  they  may  take  their  eyes  off  from  it, 
and  survey  parson  Adams  dancing  about  the  room 
in  a  rapture  of  joy.  Some  philosophers  may  per- 
hajos  doubt  whether  he  was  not  the  happiest  of  the 
three:  for  the  goodness  of  his  heart  enjoyed  the 
blessings  which  were  exulting  in  the  breasts  of 
))oth  the  other  two,  together  with  his  own.  But  we 
shall  leave  such  disquisitions,  as  too  deep  for  us, 
to  those  who  are  building  some  favorite  hypoth- 
esis, which  they  will  refuse  no  metaphysical  rub- 
bish to  erect  and  su])port :  for  our  part,  we  give  it 
clearly  on  the  side  of  Joseph,  whose  happiness  was 
not  only  greater  than  the  parson's,  but  of  longer 
duration:   for   as    soon   as    the   first   tumults   of 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  205 

Adams's  rapture  were  over  he  cast  his  eyes  to- 
wards the  fire,  where  ^schylus  lay  expiring;  and 
immediately  rescued  the  poor  remains,  to  wit,  the 
sheepskin  covering,  of  his  dear  friend,  which  was 
the  work  of  his  own  hands,  and  had  been  his  in- 
separable companion  for  upwards  of  thirty  years. 
Fanny  had  no  sooner  perfectly  recovered  her- 
self than  she  began  to  restrain  the  impetuosity  of 
her  transports;  and,  reflecting  on  what  she  had 
done  and  suffered  in  the  presence  of  so  many,  she 
was  immediately  covered  with  confusion;  and, 
pushing  Joseph  gently  from  her,  she  begged  him  to 
be  quiet,  nor  would  admit  of  either  kiss  or  embrace 
any  longer.  Then,  seeing  Mrs.  Slipslop,  she 
courtesied,  and  offered  to  advance  to  her ;  but  that 
high  woman  would  not  return  her  courtesies ;  but, 
casting  her  eyes  another  way,  immediately  with- 
drew into  another  room,  muttering,  as  she  went, 
she  wondered  who  the  creature  was. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  dissertation  coneeming  high  people  and  low  people,  with 
Mrs.  Slipslop's  departure  in  no  very  good  temper  of 
mind,  and  the  evil  plight  in  which  she  left  Adams  shad 
his  company. 

IT  will  doubtless  seem  extremely  odd  to  many- 
readers,  that  Mrs.  Slipslop,  who  had  lived 
several  years  in  the  same  house  with  Fanny, 
should,  in  a  short  separation,  utterly  forget  her. 
And  indeed  the  truth  is,  that  she  remembered  her 
very  well.  As  we  would  not  willingly,  therefore, 
that  anything  should  appear  unnatural  in  this  our 
history,  we  will  endeavor  to  explain  the  reasons 
of  her  conduct ;  nor  do  we  doubt  being  able  to  sat- 
isfy the  most  curious  reader  that  Mrs.  Slipslop 
did  not  in  the  least  deviate  from  the  common  road 
in  this  behavior ;  and,  indeed,  had  she  done  other- 
wise, she  must  have  descended  below  herself,  and 
would  have  very  justly  been  liable  to  censure. 

Be  it  known  then,  that  the  human  species  are 
divided  into  two  sorts  of  people,  to  wit,  high  peo- 
ple and  low  people.  As  by  high  people  I  would  not 
be  understood  to  mean  persons  literally  born 
higher  in  their  dimensions  than  the  rest  of  the 
species,  nor  metaphorically  those  of  exalted  char- 
acters or  abilities;  so  by  low  people  I  cannot  be 
construed  to  intend  the  reverse.  High  people  sig- 
nify no  other  than  people  of  fashion,  and  low  peo- 

206 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  207 

pie  those  of  no  fashion.  Now,  this  word  fashion 
hath  by  long  use  lost  its  original  meaning,  from 
which  at  present  it  gives  us  a  very  different  idea ; 
for  I  am  deceived  if  by  persons  of  fashion  we  do 
not  generally  include  a  conception  of  birth  and  ac- 
complishments superior  to  the  herd  of  mankind; 
whereas,  in  reality,  nothing  more  was  originally 
meant  by  a  person  of  fashion  than  a  person  who 
dressed  himself  in  the  fashion  of  the  times;  and 
the  word  really  and  truly  signifies  no  more  at  this 
day.  Now,  the  world  being  thus  divided  into  peo- 
ple of  fashion  and  people  of  no  fashion,  a  fierce 
contention  arose  between  them;  nor  would  those 
of  one  party,  to  avoid  suspicion,  be  seen  publicly 
to  speak  to  those  of  the  other,  though  they  often 
held  a  very  good  correspondence  in  private.  In 
this  contention  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  party 
succeeded ;  for,  whilst  the  people  of  fashion  seized 
several  places  to  their  own  use,  such  as  courts,  as- 
semblies, operas,  balls,  &c.,  the  people  of  no  fash- 
ion, besides  one  royal  place,  called  his  Majesty's 
Bear-garden,  have  been  in  constant  possession  of 
all  hops,  fairs,  revels,  &c.  Two  places  have  been 
agreed  to  be  divided  between  them,  namely,  the 
church  and  the  playhouse,  where  they  segregate 
themselves  from  each  other  in  a  remarkable  man- 
ner ;  for,  as  the  people  of  fashion  exalt  themselves 
at  church  over  the  heads  of  the  people  of  no  fash- 
ion, so  in  the  playhouse  they  abase  themselves  in 
the  same  degree  under  their  feet.  This  distinc- 
tion I  have  never  met  with  any  one  able  to  account 
for:  it  is  sufficient  that,  so  far  from  looking  on 
each  other  as  brethren  in  the  Christian  language, 


208  THE  HISTORY  OF 

they  seem  scarce  to  regard  each  other  as  of  the 
same  species.  This,  the  terms  "strange  persons, 
people  one  does  not  know,  the  creature,  wretches, 
beasts,  brutes,"  and  many  other  appellations  evi- 
dently demonstrate;  which  Mrs.  Slipslop,  having 
often  heard  her  mistress  use,  thought  she  had  also 
a  right  to  use  in  her  turn;  and  perhaps  she  was 
not  mistaken;  for  these  two  parties,  especially 
those  bordering  nearly  on  each  other,  to  wit,  the 
lowest  of  the  high,  and  the  highest  of  the  low,  often 
change  their  parties  according  to  place  and  time ; 
for  those  who  are  people  of  fashion  in  one  place 
are  often  people  of  no  fashion  in  another.  And 
with  regard  to  time,  it  may  not  be  unpleasant  to 
survey  the  picture  of  dependence  like  a  kind  of  lad- 
der; as,  for  instance;  early  in  the  morning  arises 
the  postilion,  or  some  other  boy,  which  great  fam- 
ilies, no  more  than  great  ships,  are  without,  and 
falls  to  brushing  the  clothes  and  cleaning  the 
shoes  of  John  the  footman;  who,  being  dressed 
himself,  applies  his  hands  to  the  same  labors  for 
Mr.  Second-hand,  the  squire's  gentleman;  the  gen- 
tleman in  the  like  manner,  a  little  later  in  the  day, 
attends  the  squire;  the  squire  is  no  sooner  equip- 
ped than  he  attends  the  levee  of  my  lord ;  which 
is  no  sooner  over  than  my  lord  himself  is  seen 
at  the  levee  of  the  favorite,  who,  after  the  hour 
of  homage  is  at  an  end,  appears  himself  to  pay 
homage  to  the  levee  of  his  sovereign.  Nor  is 
there,  perhaps,  in  this  whole  ladder  of  dependence, 
any  one  step  at  a  greater  distance  from  the  other 
than  the  first  from  the  second ;  so  that  to  a  philos- 
opher the  question  might  only  seem,  whether  you 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  209 

would  choose  to  be  a  great  man  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  at  two  in  the  afternoon.  And  yet  there 
are  scarce  two  of  these  who  do  not  think  the  least 
familiarity  with  the  persons  below  them  a  con- 
descension, and,  if  they  were  to  go  one  step 
farther,  a  degradation. 

And  now,  reader,  I  hope  thou  wilt  pardon  this 
long  digression,  which  seemed  to  me  necessary  to 
vindicate  the  great  character  of  Mrs.  Slipslop 
from  what  low  people,  who  have  never  seen  high 
people,  might  think  an  absurdity ;  but  we  who  know 
them  must  have  daily  found  very  high  persons 
know  us  in  one  place  and  not  in  another,  to-day 
and  not  to-morrow ;  all  which  it  is  difficult  to  ac- 
count for  otherwise  than  I  have  here  endeavored ; 
and  perhaps,  if  the  gods,  according  to  the  opinion 
of  some,  made  men  only  to  laugh  at  them,  there  is 
no  part  of  our  behavior  which  answers  the  end  of 
our  creation  better  than  this. 

But  to  return  to  our  history :  Adams,  who  knew 
no  more  of  this  than  the  cat  which  sat  on  the  table, 
imagining  Mrs.  Slipslop's  memory  had  been  much 
worse  than  it  really  was,  followed  her  into  the  next 
room,  crying  out,  ''Madam  Slipslop,  here  is  one 
of  your  old  acquaintance ;  do  but  see  what  a  fine 
woman  she  is  grown  since  she  left  Lad}"  Booby's 
service." — *'I  think  I  reflect  something  of  her," 
answered  she,  with  great  dignity,  "but  I  can't 
remember  all  the  inferior  servants  in  our  family. ' ' 
She  then  proceeded  to  satisfy  Adams's  curiosity, 
by  telling  him,  *'"V\Tien  she  arrived  at  the  inn,  she 
found  a  chaise  ready  for  her ;  that,  her  lady  being 
expected  very   shortly  in  the  country,   she  was 

1—14 


210  THE  HISTORY  OF 

obliged  to  make  the  utmost  haste;  and,  in  commen- 
suration  of  Joseph's  lameness,  she  had  taken  him 
with  her;"  and  lastly,  ''that  the  excessive  viru- 
lence of  the  storm  had  driven  theni  into  the  house 
where  he  found  them."  After  which,  she  ac- 
quainted Adams  with  his  having  left  his  horse,  and 
expressed  some  wonder  at  his  having  strayed  so 
far  out  of  his  way,  and  at  meeting  him,  as  she  said, 
"in  the  company  of  that  wench,  who  she  feared 
was  no  better  than  she  should  be. ' ' 

The  horse  was  no  sooner  put  into  Adams's  head 
but  he  was  immediately  driven  out  by  this  reflec- 
tion on  the  character  of  Fanny.  He  protested, 
*'He  believed  there  was  not  a  chaster  damsel  in 
the  universe.  I  heartily  wish,  I  heartily  wish," 
cried  he  (snapping  his  fingers),  ''that  all  her  bet- 
ters were  as  good."  He  then  proceeded  to  inform 
her  of  the  accident  of  their  meeting ;  but  when  he 
came  to  mention  the  circumstance  of  delivering 
her  from  the  rape,  she  said,  "She  thought  him 
properer  for  the  army  than  the  clergy ;  that  it  did 
not  become  a  clergyman  to  lay  violent  hands  on 
any  one;  that  he  should  have  rather  prayed  that 
she  might  be  strengthened."  Adams  said,  "He 
was  very  far  from  being  ashamed  of  what  he  had 
done:"  she  replied,  "Want  of  shame  was  not  the 
currycuristic  of  a  clergyman."  This  dialogue 
might  have  probably  grown  warmer,  had  not 
Joseph  opportunely  entered  the  room,  to  ask  leave 
of  Madam  Slipslop  to  introduce  Fanny:  but  she 
positively  refused  to  admit  any  such  trollops,  and 
told  him,  "She  would  have  been  burned  before  she 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  211 

would  have  suffered  him  to  get  into  a  chaise  with 
her,  if  she  had  once  respected  him  of  having  his 
sluts  waylaid  on  the  road  for  him ; ' '  adding, ' '  that 
Mr.  Adams  acted  a  very  pretty  part,  and  she  did 
not  doubt  but  to  see  him  a  bishop."  He  made  the 
best  bow  he  could,  and  cried  out,  ''I  thank  you, 
madam,  for  that  right-reverend  appellation,  which 
I  shall  take  all  honest  means  to  deserve." — ''Very 
honest  means,"  returned  she,  with  a  sneer,  ''to 
bring  people  together."  At  these  words  Adams 
took  two  or  three  strides  across  the  room,  when  the 
coachman  came  to  inform  Mrs.  Slipslop,  "That 
the  storm  was  over,  and  the  moon  shone  very 
bright."  She  then  sent  for  Joseph,  who  was  sit- 
ting without  with  his  Fanny,  and  would  have  had 
him  gone  with  her ;  but  he  peremptorily  refused  to 
leave  Fanny  behind,  which  threw  the  good  woman 
into  a  violent  rage.  She  said, ' '  She  would  inform 
her  lady  what  doings  were  carrying  on,  and  did 
not  doubt  but  she  would  rid  the  parish  of  all  such 
people;"  and  concluded  a  long  speech,  full  of  bit- 
terness and  very  hard  words,  with  some  reflections 
on  the  clergy  not  decent  to  repeat ;  at  last,  finding 
Joseph  unmovable,  she  flung  herself  into  the 
chaise,  casting  a  look  at  Fanny  as  she  went,  not 
unlike  that  which  Cleopatra  gives  Octavia  in  the 
play.  To  say  the  truth,  she  was  most  disagree- 
ably disappointed  by  the  presence  of  Fanny :  she 
had,  from  her  first  seeing  Joseph  at  the  inn,  con- 
ceived hopes  of  something  which  might  have  been 
accomplished  at  an  alehouse  as  well  as  a  palace. 
Indeed,  it  is  probable  Mr.  Adams  had  rescued 


212  THE  HISTORY  OF 

more  than  Fanny  from  the  danger  of  a  rape  that 
evening. 

When  the  chaise  had  carried  off  the  enraged 
Slipslop,  Adams,  Joseph,  and  Fanny  assembled 
over  the  fire,  where  they  had  a  great  deal  of  inno- 
cent chat,  pretty  emough ;  but,  as  possibly  it  would 
not  be  very  entertaining  to  the  reader,  we  shall 
hasten  to  the  morning;  only  observing  that  none 
of  them  went  to  bed  that  night.  Adams,  when  he 
had  smoked  three  pipes,  took  a  comfortable  nap 
in  a  great  chair,  and  left  the  lovers,  whose  eyes 
were  too  well  employed  to  permit  any  desire  of 
shutting  them,  to  enjoy  by  themselves,  during 
some  hours,  an  happiness  which  none  of  my  read- 
ers who  have  never  been  in  love  are  capable  of  the 
least  conception  of,  though  we  had  as  many 
tongues  as  Homer  desired,  to  describe  it  with,  and 
which  all  true  lovers  will  represent  to  their  own 
minds  without  the  least  assistance  from  us. 

Let  it  suffice  then  to  say,  that  Fanny,  after  a 
thousand  entreaties,  at  last  gave  up  her  whole  soul 
to  Joseph ;  and,  almost  fainting  in  his  arms,  with 
a  sigh  infinitely  softer  and  sweeter  too  than  any 
Arabian  breeze,  she  whispered  to  his  lips,  which 
were  then  close  to  hers,  '*0  Joseph,  you  have  won 
me:  I  will  be  yours  for  ever."  Joseph,  having 
thanked  her  on  his  knees,  and  embraced  her  with 
an  eagerness  which  she  now  almost  returned, 
leaped  up  in  a  rapture,  and  awakened  the  parson, 
earnestly  begging  him  "that  he  would  that  instant 
join  their  hands  together."  Adams  rebuked  him 
for  his  request,  and  told  him  ''He  would  by  no 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  213 

means  consent  to  anything  contrary  to  the  forms 
of  the  Church ;  that  he  had  no  license,  nor  indeed 
would  he  advise  him  to  obtain  one ;  that  the  Church 
had  prescribed  a  form — namely,  the  publication  of 
banns — with  which  all  good  Christians  ought  to 
comply,  and  to  the  omission  of  which  he  attributed 
the  many  miseries  which  befell  great  folks  in  mar- 
riage;" concluding,  "As  many  as  are  joined  to- 
gerther  otherwise  than  G — 's  word  doth  allow  are 
not  joined  together  by  G — ,  neither  is  their  matri- 
mony lawful."  Fanny  agreed  with  the  parson, 
saying  to  Joseph,  with  a  blush,  "She  assured  him 
she  would  not  consent  to  any  such  thing,  and  that 
she  wondered  at  his  offering  it."  In  which  reso- 
lution she  was  comforted  and  commended  by 
Adams ;  and  Joseph  was  obliged  to  wait  patiently 
till  after  the  third  publication  of  the  banns,  which, 
however,  he  obtained  the  consent  of  Fanny,  in  the 
presence  of  Adams,  to  put  in  at  their  arrival. 

The  sun  had  been  now  risen  some  hours,  when 
Joseph,  finding  his  leg  surprisingly  recovered, 
proposed  to  walk  forwards;  but  when  they  were 
all  ready  to  set  out,  an  accident  a  little  retarded 
them.  This  was  no  other  than  the  reckoning, 
which  amounted  to  seven  shillings ;  no  great  sum  if 
we  consider  the  immense  quantity  of  ale  which 
Mr.  Adams  poured  in.  Indeed,  they  had  no  ob- 
jection to  the  reasonableness  of  the  bill,  but  many 
to  the  probability  of  paying  it ;  for  the  fellow  who 
had  taken  poor  Fanny's  purse  had  unluckily  for- 
got to  return  it.  So  that  the  account  stood 
thus : — 


214  JOSEPH  ANDEEWS 

£    s.    d. 
Mr,  Adams  and  company,  Dr 0     7    0 


In  Mr.  Adams's  pocket 0     0     6i 

In  Mr.  Joseph's 0     0     0 

In  Mrs.  Fanny's 0    0    0 


Balance 0    6    5i 

They  stood  silent  some  few  minutes,  staring  at 
each  other,  when  Adams  whipped  out  on  his  toes, 
and  asked  the  hostess,  *'If  there  was  no  clergj^man 
in  that  parish?"  She  answered,  ''There  was." — 
"Is  he  wealthy?"  replied  he;  to  which  she  like- 
wise answered  in  the  affirmative.  Adams  then 
snapping  his  fingers  returned  overjoyed  to  his 
companions,  crying  out,  ''Heureka,  Ileureka;" 
which  not  being  understood,  he  told  them  in  plain 
English,  ''They  need  give  themselves  no  trouble, 
for  he  had  a  brother  in  the  parish  who  would  de- 
fray the  reckoning,  and  that  he  would  just  step  to 
his  house  and  fetch  the  money,  and  return  to  them 
instantly." 


END  or  VOLUME  I 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

yoL.  n. 


^t 


'O'i^y   /Ic/jcrri  yi-e/oAu,  /vt^  c/zt^A^^. 


.^. 


;^.   \:y    -.^    •...    •-.''^i^,      -v     ■/>'   ;f   K     ?    *??     " 


i'rulUber 


Chattee  XV. 
consequence    of    a    nen 


rious  adventure  in  which  Mr.  Adams  gave  a  rrtvch 
I    instance  of  the  honest  simplicity  of  hi- 
jf  his  experience  in  the  W3y«  of  this  woii 


^•■^ 


ogue  between  Mr. 

■  ft!"-  '^i:-,irrffMnent  : 

istropiie,  !: 
the  lov  ; 


BOOK  iii 

v;.,  :fr  preraio^y  lu  praise  or  Diognpnv 

Chapteb  II. 

A    nisrht  scene,  wherein  se,;i:il   wondcrfuj    .tIv^ 
\danis  and  his  fello. 

'.n  v,;n('ii  the  gcntleiiiati   ;•■):<•     lue  <:'.■"' 


'PTEB   IV 

■,.  ij.' IV.-.:  ..,.    ....    .*,.-..i.rt  way  o» 

'iv'enture  of  the  dog,  and  other  g 


•  l(U. 


>*.A^ 


r  !/  i\  li 


4;  r 


t 

m          '    t 

\ 

■\ 

V'jf  • 


I.'  It  fi 


I 


*».>  J^7 


» /i  ;. 


..'>(' 


CONTENTS  vii 

Chaptee  II. 

PAGE 

A    dialogue    between    Mr.    Abraham    Adams    and    the    Lady 

Booby 174 

Chai-teb  III. 
What  passed  between  the  lady  and  lawyer  Scout     ....   178 

Chapter  IV. 

A  short  chapter,  but  very  full  of  matter;   particularly  the 

arrival  of  Mr.  Booby  and  his  lady 183 

Chapter  V. 

Containing  justice  business;  curious  precedents  of  deposi- 
tions, and  other  matters  necessary  to  be  perused  by  all 
justices  of  the  peace  and  their  clerks 186 

Chapter  VI. 
Of  which  you  are  desired  to  read  no  more  than  you  like     .    195 

Chapter  VII. 

Philosophical  reflections,  the  like  not  to  be  found  in  any  light 
French  romance.  Mr.  Booby's  grave  advice  to  Joseph, 
and  Fanny's  encounter  with  a  beau 203 

Chapter  VIII. 

A  discourse  which  happened  between  Mr.  Adams,  Mrs. 
Adams,  Joseph,  and  Fasny;  with  some  behavior  of  Mr. 
Adams  which  will  be  called  by  some  few  readers  very 
low,  absurd,  and  unnatural 214 

Chapter  IX. 

A  visit  which  the  polite  Lady  Booby  and  her  polite  friend 

paid  to   the   parson 223 

Chapter  X. 

The  history  of  two  friends,  which  may  aflFord  an  useful  lesson 
to  all  those  persons  who  happen  to  take  up  their  residence 
in  married   families 228 

Chapter  XI. 
In  which  the  history  is  continued 237 


viii  CONTENTS 

Chapter  XII. 

PAGE 

Where   the    sood-natured    reader    will    see    something    which 

will  give  him  no  great  pleasure 243 

Chapter  XIII. 

The  history,  returning  to  the  Lady  Booby,  gives  some  account 
of  the  terrible  conflict  in  her  breast  between  love  and 
pride;  with  what  happened  on  the  present  discovery     .  247 

Chapter  XIV. 

Containing  several  curious  night-adventures,  in  which  Mr. 
Adams  fell  into  many  hair-breadth  'scapes,  partly  owing 
to  his   goodness,  and    partly  to   his   inadvertency     .      .  254 

Chapter  XV. 

The  arrival  of  Gaffar  and  Gammar  Andrews,  with  another 
person  not  much  expected ;  and  a  perfect  solution  of  the 
difficulties  raised  by  the  peddler 263 

Chapter  XVI. 

Being  the  last.     In  which  this  true  history  is  brought  to  a 

happy  conclusion     ..............  270 


THE  HISTORY 

OF  THE 

ADVENTURES  OF 

JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

AND 

HIS  FRIEND  MR.  ABRAHAM  ADAMS 

BOOK  II. — continued. 

CHAPTER  XIV 

An  interview  between  parson  Adams  and  parson   Trulliber. 

PARSON  ADAMS  came  to  the  house  of  par- 
son Trulliber,  whom  he  found  stripped  into 
his  waistcoat,  with  an  apron  on,  and  a  pail 
in  his  hand,  just  come  from  serving  his  hogs ;  for 
Mr.  Trulliber  was  a  parson  on  Sundays,  but  all 
the  other  six  might  more  properly  be  called  a 
farmer.  He  occupied  a  small  piece  of  land  of  his 
own,  besides  which  he  rented  a  considerable  deal 
more.  His  wife  milked  his  cows,  managed  his 
dairy,  and  followed  the  markets  with  butter  and 
eggs.  The  hogs  fell  chiefly  to  his  care,  which  he 
carefully  waited  on  at  home,  and  attended  to 
fairs;  on  which  occasion  he  was  liable  to  many 
jokes,  his  own  size  being,  with  much  ale,  rendered 
little  inferior  to  that  of  the  beasts  he  sold.     He 

was  indeed  one  of  the  largest  men  you  should  see, 
li-i  1 


2  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

and  could  have  acted  the  part  of  Sir  John  Falstaff 
without  stuffing.  Add  to  this  that  the  rotundity 
of  his  belly  was  considerably  increased  by  the 
shortness  of  his  stature,  his  shadow  ascending 
very  near  as  far  in  height,  when  he  lay  on  his  back, 
as  when  he  stood  on  his  legs.  His  voice  was  loud 
and  hoarse,  and  his  accents  extremely  broad.  To 
complete  the  whole,  he  had  a  stateliness  in  his 
gait,  when  he  walked,  not  unlike  that  of  a  goose, 
only  he  stalked  slower. 

Mr.  Trulliber,  being  informed  that  somebody 
wanted  to  speak  with  him,  immediately  slipped 
off  his  apron  and  clothed  himself  in  an  old  night- 
gown, being  the  dress  in  which  he  always  saw  his 
company  at  home.  His  wife,  who  informed  him 
of  Mr.  Adams's  arrival,  had  made  a  small  mis- 
take ;  for  she  had  told  her  husband,  * '  She  believed 
there  was  a  man  come  for  some  of  his  hogs." 
This  supposition  made  Mr.  Trulliber  hasten  with 
the  utmost  expedition  to  attend  his  guest.  He  no 
sooner  saw  Adams  than,  not  in  the  least  doubting 
the  cause  of  his  errand  to  be  what  his  wife  had 
imagined,  he  told  him,  ''He  was  come  in  very 
good  time;  that  he  expected  a  dealer  that  very 
afternoon;"  and  added,  ''they  were  all  pure  and 
fat,  and  upwards  of  twenty  score  a-piece." 
Adams  answered,  "He  believed  he  did  not  know 
him."  "Yes,  yes,"  cried  Trulliber,  "I  have  seen 
you  often  at  fair ;  why,  we  have  dealt  before  now, 
mun,  I  warrant  you.  Yes,  yes,"  cries  he,  "I  re- 
member thy  face  very  well,  but  won't  mention  a 
word  more  till  you  have  seen  them,  though  I  have 
never  sold  thee  a  flitch  of  such  bacon  as  is  now  in 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  3 

the  sty."  Upon  which  he  laid  violent  hands  on 
Adams,  and  dragged  him  into  the  hog- sty,  which 
was  indeed  but  two  steps  from  his  parlor  window. 
They  were  no  sooner  arrived  there  than  he  cried 
out,  "Do  but  handle  them!  step  in,  friend!  art 
welcome  to  handle  them,  whether  dost  buy  or  no." 
At  which  words,  opening  the  gate,  he  pushed 
Adams  into  the  pig-sty,  insisting  on  it  that  he 
should  handle  them  before  he  would  talk  one  word 
with  him. 

Adams,  whose  natural  complacence  was  beyond 
any  artificial,  was  obliged  to  comply  before  he 
was  suffered  to  explain  himself;  and,  laying  hold 
on  one  of  their  tails,  the  unruly  beast  gave  such  a 
sudden  spring,  that  he  threw  poor  Adams  all 
along  in  the  mire.  Trulliber,  instead  of  assisting 
him  to  get  up,  burst  into  a  laughter,  and,  entering 
the  sty,  said  to  Adams,  with  some  contempt, 
"Why,  dost  not  know  how  to  handle  a  hog?"  and 
was  going  to  lay  hold  of  one  himself,  but  Adams, 
who  thought  he  had  carried  his  complacence  far 
enough,  was  no  sooner  on  his  legs  than  he  escaped 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  animals,  and  cried  out, 
"Nihil  haheo  cum  porcis:  I  am  a  clergyman,  sir, 
and  am  not  come  to  buy  hogs."  Trulliber  an- 
swered, "He  was  sorry  for  the  mistake,  but  that 
he  must  blame  his  wife, ' '  adding,  ' '  she  was  a  fool, 
and  always  committed  blunders."  He  then  de- 
sired him  to  walk  in  and  clean  himself,  that  he 
would  only  fasten  up  the  sty  and  follow  him. 
Adams  desired  leave  to  dry  his  greatcoat,  wig,  and 
hat  by  the  fire,  which  Trulliber  granted.  Mrs. 
Trulliber  would  have  brought  him  a  basin   of 


4  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

water  to  wash  his  face,  but  her  husband  bid  h-er 
be  quiet  like  a  fool  as  she  was,  or  she  would  com- 
mit more  blunders,  and  then  directed  Adams  to 
the  pump.  While  Adams  was  thus  employed, 
Trulliber,  conceiving  no  great  respect  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  his  guest,  fastened  the  parlor  door, 
and  now  conducted  him  into  the  kitchen,  telling 
him  he  believed  a  cup  of  drink  would  do  him  no 
harm,  and  whispered  his  wife  to  draw  a  little  of 
the  worst  ale.  After  a  short  silence  Adams  said, 
"I  fancy,  sir,  you  already  perceive  me  to  be  a 
clergyman." — ''Ay,  ay,"  cries  Trulliber,  grin- 
ning, "I  perceive  you  have  some  cassock;  I  will 
not  venture  to  caale  it  a  whole  one."  Adams  an- 
swered, ''It  was  indeed  none  of  the  best,  but  he 
had  the  misfortune  to  tear  it  about  ten  years  ago 
in  passing  over  a  stile."  Mrs.  Trulliber,  return- 
ing with  the  drink,  told  her  husband, ' '  She  fancied 
the  gentleman  was  a  traveler,  and  that  he  would 
be  glad  to  eat  a  bit."  Trulliber  bid  her  hold  her 
impertinent  tongue,  and  asked  her,  "If  parsons 
used  to  travel  without  horses?"  adding,  "he  sup- 
posed the  gentleman  had  none  by  his  having  no 
boots  on." — "Yes,  sir,  yes,"  says  Adams;  "I 
have  a  horse,  but  I  have  left  him  behind  me." — 
"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  have  one,"  says  Trulliber; 
"for  I  assure  you  I  don't  love  to  see  clergymen 
on  foot;  it  is  not  seemly  nor  suiting  the  dignity 
of  the  cloth."  Here  Trulliber  made  a  long  ora- 
tion on  the  dignity  of  the  cloth  (or  rather  gown) 
not  much  worth  relating,  till  his  wife  had  spread 
the  table  and  set  a  mess  of  porridge  on  it  for  his 
breakfast.    He  then   said   to  Adams,   "I   don't 


JOSEPH  ANDKEWS  5 

know,  friend,  how  you  came  to  caale  on  me ;  how- 
ever, as  you  are  here,  if  you  think  proper  to  eat 
a  morsel,  you  may."  Adams  accepted  the  invita- 
tion, and  the  two  parsons  sat  down  together ;  Mrs. 
Trulliber  waiting  behind  her  husband's  chair,  as 
was,  it  seems,  her  custom.  Trulliber  eat  heartily, 
but  scarce  put  anything  in  his  mouth  without  find- 
ing fault  with  his  wife's  cookery.  All  which  the 
poor  woman  bore  patiently.  Indeed,  she  was  so 
absolute  an  admirer  of  her  husband's  greatness 
and  importance,  of  which  she  had  frequent  hints 
from  his  own  mouth,  that  she  almost  carried  her 
adoration  to  an  opinion  of  his  infallibility.  To 
say  the  truth,  the  parson  had  exercised  her  more 
ways  than  one ;  and  the  pious  woman  had  so  well 
edified  by  her  husband's  sermons,  that  she  had  re- 
solved to  receive  the  bad  things  of  this  world  to- 
gether with  the  good.  She  had  indeed  been  at 
first  a  little  contentious;  but  he  had  long  since 
got  the  better ;  partly  by  her  love  for  this,  partly 
by  her  fear  of  that,  partly  by  her  religion,  partly 
by  the  respect  he  paid  himself,  and  partly  by  that 
which  he  received  from  the  parish.  She  had,  in 
short,  absolutely  submitted,  and  now  worshiped 
her  husband,  as  Sarah  did  Abraham,  calling  him 
(not  lord,  but)  master.  Whilst  they  were  at  table 
her  husband  gave  her  a  fresh  example  of  his  great- 
ness; for,  as  she  had  just  delivered  a  cup  of  ale 
to  Adams,  he  snatched  it  out  of  his  hand,  and, 
crying  out,  "I  caal'd  vurst,"  swallowed  down  the 
ale.  Adams  denied  it;  it  was  referred  to  the 
wife,  who,  though  her  conscience  was  on  the  side 
of  Adams,  durst  not  give  it  against  her  husband ; 


6  THE  HISTORY  OF 

upon  which  he  said,  ''No,  sir,  no;  I  should  not 
have  been  so  rude  to  have  taken  it  from  you  if 
you  had  eaal'd  vurst,  but  I'd  have  you  know  I'm 
a  better  man  than  to  suffer  the  best  he  in  the  king- 
dom to  drink  before  me  in  my  own  house  when  I 
caale  vurst." 

As  soon  as  their  breakfast  was  ended,  Adams 
began  in  the  following  manner:  "I  think,  sir,  it 
is  high  time  to  inform  you  of  the  business  of  my 
embassy,  I  am  a  traveler,  and  am  passing  this 
way  in  company  with  two  young  people,  a  lad  and 
a  damsel,  my  parishioners,  towards  my  own  cure; 
we  stopped  at  a  house  of  hospitality  in  the  parish, 
where  they  directed  me  to  you  as  having  the 
cure." — "Though  I  am  but  a  curate,"  says  Trul- 
liber,  '*I  believe  I  am  as  warm  as  the  vicar  him- 
self, or  perhaps  the  rector  of  the  next  parish  too ; 
I  believe  I  could  buy  them  both." — ''Sir,"  cries 
Adams,  "I  rejoice  thereat.  Now,  sir,  my  busi- 
ness is,  that  we  are  by  various  accidents  stripped 
of  our  money,  and  are  not  able  to  pay  our  reck- 
oning, being  seven  shillings.  I  therefore  request 
you  to  assist  me  with  the  loan  of  those  seven 
shillings,  and  also  seven  shillings  more,  which, 
peradventure,  I  shall  return  to  you ;  but  if  not,  I 
am  convinced  you  will  joyfully  embrace  such  an 
opportunity  of  laying  up  a  treasure  in  a  better 
place  than  any  this  world  affords." 

Suppose  a  stranger,  who  entered  the  chambers 
of  a  lawyer,  being  imagined  a  client,  when  the  law- 
yer was  preparing  his  palm  for  the  fee,  should 
pull  out  a  writ  against  him.  Suppose  an  apothe- 
cary, at  the  door  of  a  chariot,  containing  some 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  7. 

great  doctor  of  eminent  skill,  sliould,  instead  of 
directions  to  a  patient,  present  Mm  with  a  potion 
for  himself.     Suppose  a  minister  should,  instead 

of  a  good  round  sum,  treat  my  lord ,  or  sir 

,  or  esq. with  a  good  broomstick. 

Suppose  a  civil  companion,  or  a  led  captain, 
should,  instead  of  virtue,  and  honor,  and  beauty, 
and  parts,  and  admiration,  thunder  vice,  and  in- 
famy, and  ugliness,  and  folly,  and  contempt,  in 
his  patron's  ears.  Suppose,  when  a  tradesman 
first  carries  in  his  bill,  the  man  of  fashion  should 
pay  it;  or  suppose,  if  he  did  so,  the  tradesman 
should  abate  what  he  had  overcharged,  on  the  sup- 
position of  waiting.  In  short — suppose  what  you 
will,  you  never  can  nor  will  sujopose  anything 
equal  to  the  astonishment  which  seized  on  Trul- 
liber,  as  soon  as  Adams  had  ended  his  speech. 
A  while  he  rolled  his  eyes  in  silence;  sometimes 
surveying  Adams,  then  his  wife;  then  casting 
them  on  the  ground,  then  lifting  them  up  to 
heaven.  At  last  he  burst  forth  in  the  following 
accents :  ' '  Sir,  I  believe  I  know  where  to  lay  up 
my  little  treasure  as  well  as  another.  I  thank 
G — ,  if  I  am  not  so  warm  as  some,  I  am  content ; 
that  is  a  blessing  greater  than  riches;  and  he  to 
whom  that  is  given  need  ask  no  more.  To  be 
content  with  a  little  is  greater  than  to  possess  the 
world;  which  a  man  may  possess  without  being 
so.  Lay  up  my  treasure !  what  matters  where  a 
man's  treasure  is  whose  heart  is  in  the  Scrip- 
tures? there  is  the  treasure  of  a  Christian."  At 
these  words  the  water  ran  from  Adams's  eyes; 
and,  catching  Trulliber  by  the  hand  in  a  rapture, 


8  THE  HISTORY  OF 

*' Brother,"  says  he,  ^'heavens  bless  the  accident 
by  which  I  came  to  see  you !  I  would  have  walked 
many  a  mile  to  have  communed  with  you ;  and,  be- 
lieve me,  I  will  shortly  pay  you  a  second  visit; 
but  my  friends,  I  fancy,  by  this  time,  wonder  at 
my  stay;  so  let  me  have  the  money  immediately." 
Trulliber  then  put  on  a  stern  look,  and  cried  out, 
''Thou  dost  not  intend  to  rob  me?"  At  which 
the  wife,  bursting  into  tears,  fell  on  her  knees 
and  roared  out,  ''0  dear  sir!  for  Heaven's  sake 
don't  rob  my  master;  we  are  but  poor  people." 
' '  Get  up,  for  a  fool  as  thou  art,  and  go  about  thy 
business,"  said  Trulliber;  *'dost  think  the  man 
will  venture  his  life?  he  is  a  beggar,  and  no  rob- 
ber." ''Very  true,  indeed,"  answered  Adams. 
"I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  the  tithing-man  was 
here,"  cries  Trulliber;  "I  would  have  thee  pun- 
ished as  a  vagabond  for  thy  impudence.  Four- 
teen shillings  indeed!  I  won't  give  thee  a  farth- 
ing. I  believe  thou  art  no  more  a  clergyman  than 
the  woman  there,"  (pointing  to  his  wife) ;  "but  if 
thou  art,  dost  deserve  to  have  thy  gown  stripped 
over  thy  shoulders  for  running  about  the  country 
in  such  a  manner. "  "I  forgive  your  suspicions, ' ' 
says  Adams;  "but  suppose  I  am  not  a  clergyman, 
I  am  nevertheless  thy  brother;  and  thou,  as  a 
Christian,  much  more  as  a  clergyman,  art  obliged 
to  relieve  my  distress."  "Dost  preach  to  me?" 
replied  Trulliber;  "dost  pretend  to  instruct  me 
in  my  duty?"  "Ifacks,  a  good  story,"  cries  Mrs. 
Trulliber,  "to  preach  to  my  master."  "Silence, 
woman,"  cries  Trulliber.  "I  would  have  thee 
know,  friend"   (addressing  himself  to  Adams), 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  9 

*'I  shall  not  learn  my  duty  from  such  as  thee. 
I  know  what  charity  is,  better  than  to  give  to  vaga- 
bonds." '^  Besides,  if  we  were  inclined,  the 
poor's  rate  obliges  us  to  give  so  much  charity," 
cries  the  wife.  "Pugh!  thou  art  a  fool.  Poor's 
reate !  Hold  thy  nonsense, ' '  answered  Trulliber ; 
and  then,  turning  to  Adams,  he  told  him,  "he 
would  give  him  nothing."  "I  am  sorry,"  an- 
swered Adams,  "that  you  do  know  what  charity 
is,  since  you  practice  it  no  better:  I  must  tell 
you,  if  you  trust  to  your  knowledge  for  your  justi- 
fication, you  will  find  yourself  deceived,  though 
you  should  add  faith  to  it,  without  good  works." 
"Fellow,"  cries  Trulliber,  "dost  thou  speak 
against  faith  in  my  house?  Get  out  of  my  doors : 
I  will  no  longer  remain  under  the  same  roof  with 
a  wretch  who  speaks  wantonly  of  faith  and  the 
Scriptures."  "Name  not  the  Scriptures,"  says 
Adams.  "How!  not  name  the  Scriptures!  Do 
you  disbelieve  the  Scriptures?"  cries  Trulliber. 
"No;  but  you  do,"  answered  Adams,  "if  I  may 
reason  from  your  practice;  for  their  commands 
are  so  explicit,  and  their  rewards  and  punish- 
ments so  immense,  that  it  is  impossible  a  man 
should  steadfastly  believe  without  obeying.  Now, 
there  is  no  command  more  express,  no  duty  more 
frequently  enjoined,  than  charity.  Whoever, 
therefore,  is  void  of  charity,  I  make  no  scruple  of 
pronouncing  that  he  is  no  Christian."  "I  would 
not  advise  thee,"  says  Trulliber,  "to  say  that  I 
am  no  Christian:  I  won't  take  it  of  you;  for  I 
believe  I  am  as  good  a  man  as  thyself"  (and  in- 
deed, though  he  was  now  rather  too  corpulent  for 


10  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

athletic  exercises,  he  had,  in  his  youth,  been  one 
of  the  best  boxers  and  cudgel-players  in  the  coun- 
ty). His  wife,  seeing  him  clench  his  fist,  inter- 
posed, and  begged  him  not  to  fight,  but  show  him- 
self a  true  Christian,  and  take  the  law  of  him.  As 
nothing  could  provoke  Adams  to  strike,  but  an 
absolute  assault  on  himself  or  his  friend,  he  smiled 
at  the  angry  look  and  gestures  of  Trulliber ;  and, 
telling  him  he  was  sorry  to  see  such  men  in  orders, 
departed  without  further  ceremony. 


CHAPTEE  XV 

An  adventure,  the  consequence  of  a  new  instance  which  par- 
son Adams  gave  of  his  forgetfulness. 

WHEN  he  came  back  to  the  inn  he  found 
Joseph  and  Fanny  sitting  together. 
They  were  so  far  from  thinking  his  ab- 
sence long,  as  he  had  feared  they  would,  that  they 
never  once  missed  or  thought  of  him.  Indeed,  I 
have  been  often  assured  by  both,  that  they  spent 
these  hours  in  a  most  delightful  conversation ;  but, 
as  I  never  could  prevail  on  either  to  relate  it,  so 
I  cannot  communicate  it  to  the  reader. 

Adams  acquainted  the  lovers  with  the  ill  success 
of  his  enterprise.  They  were  all  greatly  con- 
founded, none  being  able  to  propose  any  method 
of  departing,  till  Joseph  at  last  advised  calling 
in  the  hostess,  and  desiring  her  to  trust  them; 
which  Fanny  said  she  despaired  of  her  doing,  as 
she  was  one  of  the  sourest-faced  women  she  had 
ever  beheld. 

But  she  was  agreeably  disappointed;  for  the 
hostess  was  no  sooner  asked  the  question  than  she 
readily  agreed;  and,  with  a  courtesy  and  smile, 
wished  them  a  good  journey.  However,  lest  Fan- 
ny's skill  in  physiognomy  should  be  called  in 
question,  we  will  venture  to  assign  one  reason 
which  might  probably  incline  her  to  this  confi- 
dence and  good-humor.    When  Adams  said  he 

11 


12  THE  HISTORY  OF 

was  going  to  visit  his  brother,  he  had  unwittingly 
imposed  on  Joseph  and  Fanny,  who  both  believed 
he  had  meant  his  natural  brother,  and  not  his 
brother  in  divinity,  and  had  so  informed  the 
hostess,  on  her  inquiry  after  him.  Now  Mr.  Trul- 
liber  had,  by  his  professions  of  piety,  by  his  grav- 
ity, austerity,  reserve,  and  the  opinion  of  his 
great  wealth,  so  great  an  authority  in  his  parish, 
that  they  all  lived  in  the  utmost  fear  and  appre- 
hension of  him.  It  was  therefore  no  wonder  that 
the  hostess,  who  knew  it  was  in  his  option  whether 
she  should  ever  sell  another  mug  of  drink,  did  not 
dare  to  affront  his  supposed  brother  by  denying 
him  credit. 

They  were  now  just  on  their  departure  when 
Adams  recollected  he  had  left  his  greatcoat  and 
hat  at  Mr.  Trulliber's.  As  he  was  not  desirous  of 
renewing  his  visit,  the  hostess  herself,  having  no 
servant  at  home,  offered  to  fetch  it. 

This  was  an  unfortunate  expedient;  for  the 
hostess  was  soon  undeceived  in  the  opinion  she 
had  entertained  of  Adams,  whom  Trulliber  abused 
in  the  grossest  terras,  especially  when  he  heard  he 
had  had  the  assurance  to  pretend  to  be  his  near 
relation. 

At  her  return,  therefore,  she  entirely  changed 
her  note.  She  said,  ''Folks  might  be  ashamed  of 
traveling  about,  and  pretending  to  be  what  they 
were  not.  ,  That  taxes  were  high,  and  for  her  part 
she  was  obliged  to  pay  for  what  she  had ;  she  could 
not  therefore  possibly,  nor  would  she,  trust  any- 
body; no,  not  her  own  father.  That  money  was 
never  scarcer,  and  she  wanted  to  make  up  a  sum. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  13 

That  she  expected,  therefore,  they  should  pay 
their  reckoning  before  they  left  the  house. ' ' 

Adams  was  now  greatly  perplexed;  but,  as  he 
knew  that  he  could  easily  have  borrowed  such  a 
sum  in  his  own  parish,  and  as  he  knew  he  would 
have  lent  it  himself  to  any  mortal  in  distress,  so 
he  took  fresh  courage,  and  sallied  out  all  round 
the  parish,  but  to  no  purpose ;  he  returned  as  pen- 
niless as  he  went,  groaning  and  lamenting  that  it 
was  possible,  in  a  country  professing  Christianity, 
for  a  wretch  to  starve  in  the  midst  of  his  fellow- 
creatures  who  abounded. 

"Whilst  he  was  gone,  the  hostess,  who  stayed  as 
a  sort  of  guard  with  Joseph  and  Fanny,  enter- 
tained them  with  the  goodness  of  parson  Trulli- 
ber.  And,  indeed,  he  had  not  only  a  very  good 
character  as  to  other  qualities  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, but  was  reputed  a  man  of  great  charity; 
for,  though  he  never  gave  a  farthing,  he  had  al- 
ways that  word  in  his  mouth. 

Adams  was  no  sooner  returned  the  second  time 
than  the  storm  grew  exceedingly  high,  the  hostess 
declaring,  among  other  things,  that,  if  they  of- 
fered to  stir  without  paying  her,  she  would  soon 
overtake  them  with  a  warrant. 

Plato  and  Aristotle,  or  somebody  else,  hath 
said,  that  ivhen  the  most  exquisite  cunning  fails, 
chance  often  hits  the  mark,  and  that  by  means  the 
least  expected.    Yirgil  expresses  this  very  bold- 

Turne,  quod-  optanti  divum  promittere  nemo  13 

'Auderet,  volvenda  dies,  en!  attulit  ultro. 


14  JOSEPH  ANDEEWS 

I  would  quote  more  great  men  if  I  could ;  but  my 
memory  not  permitting  me,  I  will  proceed  to  ex- 
emplify these  observations  by  the  following  in- 
stance : — 

There  chanced  (for  Adams  had  not  cunning 
enough  to  contrive  it)  to  be  at  that  time  in  the  ale- 
house a  fellow  who  had  been  formerly  a  drummer 
in  an  Irish  regiment,  and  now  traveled  the  coun- 
try as  a  peddler.  This  man,  having  attentively 
listened  to  the  discourse  of  the  hostess,  at  last 
took  Adams  aside,  and  asked  him  what  the  sum 
was  for  which  they  were  detained.  As  soon  as 
he  was  informed,  he  sighed,  and  said,  "He  was 
sorry  it  was  so  much;  for  that  he  had  no  more 
than  six  shillings  and  sixpence  in  his  pocket,  which 
he  would  lend  them  with  all  his  heart."  Adams 
gave  a  caper,  and  cried  out,  "It  would  do;  for 
that  he  had  sixpence  himself."  And  thus  these 
poor  people,  who  could  not  engage  the  compassion 
of  riches  and  piety,  were  at  length  delivered  out 
of  their  distress  by  the  charity  of  a  poor  peddler. 
I  shall  refer  it  to  my  reader  to  make  what  observa- 
tions he  pleases  on  this  incident ;  it  is  sufficient  for 
me  to  inform  him  that,  after  Adams  and  his  com- 
panions had  returned  him  a  thousand  thanks,  and 
told  him  where  he  might  call  to  be  repaid,  they  all 
sallied  out  of  the  house  without  any  compliments 
from  their  hostess,  or  indeed  without  paying  her 
any;  Adams  declaring  he  would  take  particular 
care  never  to  call  there  again;  and  she  on  her 
side  assuring  them  she  wanted  no  such  guests. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  very  curious  adventure,  in  which  Mr.  Adams  gave  a  much. 
greater  instance  of  the  honest  simplicity  of  his  heart, 
than  of  his  experience  in  the  ways  of  this  world. 

OUR  travelers  had  walked  about  two  miles 
froni  that  inn,  which  they  had  more  rea- 
son to  have  mistaken  for  a  castle  than 
Don  Quixote  ever  had  any  of  those  in  which  he 
sojourned,  seeing  they  had  met  with  such  difficulty 
in  escaping  out  of  its  walls,  when  they  came  to  a 
parish,  and  beheld  a  sign  of  invitation  hanging 
out.  A  gentleman  sat  smoking  a  pipe  at  the  door, 
of  whom  Adams  inquired  the  road,  and  received 
so  courteous  and  obliging  an  answer,  accompa- 
nied with  so  smiling  a  countenance,  that  the  good 
parson,  whose  heart  was  naturally  disposed  to 
love  and  affection,  began  to  ask  several  other 
questions;  particularly  the  name  of  the  parish, 
and  who  was  the  owner  of  a  large  house  whose 
front  they  then  had  in  prospect.  The  gentleman 
answered  as  obligingly  as  before;  and  as  to  the 
house,  acquainted  him  it  was  his  own.  He  then 
proceeded  in  the  following  manner :  ^ '  Sir,  I  pre- 
sume by  your  habit  you  are  a  clergyman ;  and  as 
you  are  traveling  on  foot  I  suppose  a  glass  of 
good  beer  will  not  be  disagreeable  to  you ;  and  I 
can  recommend  my  landlord's  within  as  some  of 
the  best  in  all  this  country.    "What  say  you,  will 

15 


16  THE  HISTOKY  OF 

you  halt  a  little  and  let  us  take  a  pipe  together? 
there  is  no  better  tobacco  in  the  kingdom."  This 
proposal  was  not  displeasing  to  Adams,  who  had 
allayed  his  thirst  that  day  with  no  better  liquor 
than  what  Mrs.  Trulliber's  cellar  had  produced; 
and  which  was  indeed  little  superior,  either  in 
richness  or  flavor,  to  that  which  distilled  from 
those  grains  her  generous  husband  bestowed  on 
his  hogs.  Having,  therefore,  abundantly  thanked 
the  gentleman  for  his  kind  invitation,  and  bid 
Joseph  and  Fanny  follow  him,  he  entered  the  ale- 
house, where  a  large  loaf  and  cheese  and  a  pitcher 
of  beer,  which  truly  answered  the  character  given 
of  it,  being  set  before  them,  the  three  travelers 
fell  to  eating,  with  appetites  infinitely  more  vora- 
cious than  are  to  be  found  at  the  most  exquisite 
eating-houses  in  the  parish  of  St.  James's. 

The  gentleman  expressed  great  delight  in  the 
hearty  and  cheerful  behavior  of  Adams ;  and  par- 
ticularly in  the  familiarity  with  which  he  con- 
versed with  Joseph  and  Fanny,  whom  he  often 
called  his  children;  a  term  he  exjDlained  to  mean 
no  more  than  his  parishioners;  saying,  ''He 
looked  on  all  those  whom  God  had  intrusted  to  his 
cure  to  stand  to  him  in  that  relation. ' '  The  gen- 
tleman, shaking  him  by  the  hand,  highly  ap- 
plauded those  sentiments.  "They  are,  indeed," 
says  he,  ''the  true  principles  of  a  Christian  di- 
vine ;  and  I  heartily  wish  they  were  universal ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  parson  of 
our  parish,  instead  of  esteeming  his  poor  parish- 
ioners as  a  part  of  his  family,  seems  rather  to 
consider  them  as  not  of  the  same  species  with 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  17 

himself.  He  seldom  speaks  to  any,  unless  some 
few  of  the  richest  of  us;  nay,  indeed,  he  will  not 
move  his  hat  to  the  others.  I  often  laugh  when 
I  behold  him  on  Sundays  strutting  along  the 
churchyard  like  a  turkey-cock  through  rows  of  his 
parishioners,  who  bow  to  him  with  as  much  sub- 
mission, and  are  as  unregarded,  as  a  set  of  servile 
courtiers  by  the  proudest  prince  in  Christendom. 
But  if  such  temporal  pride  is  ridiculous,  surely 
the  spiritual  is  odious  and  detestable;  if  such  a 
puffed-up  empty  human  bladder,  strutting  in 
princely  robes,  justly  moves  one's  derision,  surely 
in  the  habit  of  a  priest  it  must  raise  our  scorn." 

"Doubtless,"  answered  Adams,  "your  opinion 
is  right ;  but  I  hope  such  examples  are  rare.  The 
clergy  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  know  maintain  a 
different  behavior ;  and  you  will  allow  me,  sir,  that 
the  readiness  which  too  many  of  the  laity  show  to 
contemn  the  order  may  be  one  reason  of  their 
avoiding  too  much  humility."  "Very  true,  in- 
deed," says  the  gentleman;  "I  find,  sir,  you  are 
a  man  of  excellent  sense,  and  am  happy  in  this 
opportunity  of  knowing  you;  perhaps  our  acci- 
dental meeting  may  not  be  disadvantageous  to 
you  neither.  At  present  I  shall  only  say  to  you 
that  the  incumbent  of  this  living  is  old  and  infirm, 
and  that  it  is  in  my  gift.  Doctor,  give  me  your 
hand;  and  assure  yourself  of  it  at  his  decease." 
Adams  told  him,  "He  was  never  more  confounded 
in  his  life  than  at  his  utter  incapacity  to  make  any 
return  to  such  noble  and  unmerited  generosity." 
"A  mere  trifle,  sir,"  cries  the  gentleman,  "scarce 
worth  your  acceptance;  a  little  more  than  three 

II— 2 


18  THE  HISTORY  OF 

hundred  a  year.  I  wish  it  was  double  the  value 
for  your  sake."  Adams  bowed,  and  cried  from 
the  emotions  of  his  gratitude;  when  the  other 
asked  him,  *'If  he  was  married,  or  had  any  chil- 
dren, besides  those  in  the  spiritual  sense  he  had 
mentioned."  "Sir,"  replied  the  parson,  "I  have 
a  wife  and  six  at  your  service."  "That  is  un- 
lucky," says  the  gentleman;  "for  I  would  other- 
wise have  taken  you  into  my  own  house  as  my 
chaplain;  however,  I  have  another  in  the  parish 
(for  the  parsonage-house  is  not  good  enough), 
which  I  will  furnish  for  you.  Pray,  does  your 
wife  understand  a  dairy?"  "I  can't  profess  she 
does,"  says  Adams.  "I  am  sorry  for  it,"  quoth 
the  gentleman;  "I  would  have  given  you  half-a- 
dozen  cows,  and  very  good  grounds  to  have  main- 
tained them."  "Sir,"  said  Adams,  in  an  ecstasy, 
"you  are  too  liberal;  indeed  you  are."  "Not  at 
all,"  cries  the  gentleman:  "I  esteem  riches  only 
as  they  give  me  an  opportunity  of  doing  good; 
and  I  never  saw  one  whom  I  had  a  greater  in- 
clination to  serve."  At  which  words  he  shook 
him  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  told  him  he  had 
sufficient  room  in  his  house  to  entertain  him  and 
his  friends.  Adams  begged  he  might  give  him  no 
such  trouble ;  that  they  could  be  very  well  accom- 
modated in  the  house  where  they  were ;  forgetting 
they  had  not  a  sixpenny  piece  among  them.  The 
gentleman  would  not  be  denied;  and,  informing 
himself  how  far  they  were  traveling,  he  said  it  was 
too  long  a  journey  to  take  on  foot,  and  begged 
that  they  would  favor  him  by  suffering  him  to  lend 
them  a  servant  and  horses;  adding,  withal,  that, 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  19 

if  they  would  do  him  the  pleasure  of  their  com- 
pany only  two  days,  he  would  furnish  them  with 
his  coach  and  six.  Adams,  turning  to  Joseph, 
said,  ''How  lucky  is  this  gentleman's  goodness  to 
you,  who  I  am  afraid  would  be  scarce  able  to  hold 
out  on  your  lame  leg!"  and  then,  addressing  the 
person  who  made  him  these  liberal  promises,  after 
much  bowing,  he  cried  out,  ''Blessed  be  the  hour 
which  first  introduced  me  to  a  man  of  your  char- 
ity !  you  are  indeed  a  Christian  of  the  true  prim- 
itive kind,  and  an  honor  to  the  country  wherein 
j^ou  live.  I  would  willingly  have  taken  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  Holy  Land  to  have  beheld  you ;  for  the 
advantages  which  we  draw  from  your  goodness 
give  me  little  pleasure,  in  comparison  of  what  I 
enjoy  for  your  own  sake  when  I  consider  the  treas- 
ures you  are  by  these  means  laying  up  for  your- 
self in  a  country  that  passeth  not  away.  "We  will 
therefore,  most  generous  sir,  accept  your  good- 
ness, as  well  the  entertainment  you  have  so  kindly 
offered  us  at  your  house  this  evening,  as  the  ac- 
commodation of  your  horses  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." He  then  began  to  search  for  his  hat,  as  did 
Joseph  for  his ;  and  both  they  and  Fanny  were  in 
order  of  departure,  when  the  gentleman,  stopping 
short,  and  seeming  to  meditate  by  himself  for  the 
space  of  about  a  minute,  exclaimed  thus:  "Sure 
never  anything  was  so  unlucky ;  I  had  forgot  that 
my  housekeeper  was  gone  abroad,  and  hath  locked 
up  all  my  rooms ;  indeed,  I  would  break  them  open 
for  you,  but  shall  not  be  able  to  furnish  you  with 
a  bed ;  for  she  has  likewise  put  away  all  my  linen. 
I  am  glad  it  entered  into  my  head  before  I  had 


20  THE  HISTORY  OF 

given  you  the  trouble  of  walking  there;  besides, 
1  believe  you  will  find  better  accommodations  here 
than  you  expected. — Landlord,  you  can  provide 
good  beds  for  these  people,  can't  you?"  "Yes, 
and  please  your  worship,"  cries  the  host,  "and 
such  as  no  lord  or  justice  of  the  peace  in  the  king- 
dom need  be  ashamed  to  lie  in."  "I  am  heartilyi 
sorry,"  says  the  gentleman,  "for  this  disappoint- 
ment. I  am  resolved  I  will  never  suffer  her  to 
carry  away  the  keys  again."  "Pray,  sir,  let  it 
not  make  you  uneasy,"  cries  Adams;  "we  shall  do 
very  well  here;  and  the  loan  of  your  horses  is  a 
favor  we  shall  be  incapable  of  making  any  return 
to."  "Ay!"  said  the  squire,  "the  horses  shall 
attend  you  here  at  what  hour  in  the  morning  you 
please;"  and  now,  after  many  civilities  too 
tedious  to  enumerate,  many  squeezes  by  the  hand, 
with  most  affectionate  looks  and  smiles  at  each 
other,  and  after  appointing  the  horses  at  seven  the 
next  morning,  the  gentleman  took  his  leave  of 
them,  and  departed  to  his  own  house.  Adams  and 
his  companions  returned  to  the  table,  where  the 
parson  smoked  another  pipe,  and  then  they  all 
retired  to  rest. 

Mr.  Adams  rose  very  early,  and  called  Joseph 
out  of  his  bed,  between  whom  a  very  fierce  dis- 
pute ensued,  whether  Fanny  should  ride  behind 
Joseph,  or  behind  the  gentleman's  servant; 
Joseph  insisting  on  it  that  he  was  perfectlj^  recov- 
ered, and  was  as  capable  of  taking  care  of  Fanny 
as  any  other  person  could  be.  But  Adams  would 
not  agree  to  it,  and  declared  he  would  not  trust 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  21 

her  behind  him;  for  that  he  was  weaker  than  he 
imagined  himself  to  be. 

This  dispute  continued  a  long  time,  and  had  be- 
gun to  be  tery  hot,  when  a  servant  arrived  from 
their  good  friend,  to  acquaint  them  that  he  was 
unfortunately  prevented  from  lending  them  any 
horses ;  for  that  his  groom  had,  unknown  to  him, 
put  his  whole  stable  under  a  course  of  physic. 

This  advice  presently  struck  the  two  disputants 
dumb:  Adams  cried  out,  "Was  ever  anything  so 
unlucky  as  this  poor  gentleman?  I  protest  I  am 
more  sorry  on  his  account  than  my  own.  You  see, 
Joseph,  how  this  good-natured  man  is  treated  by 
his  servants;  one  locks  up  his  linen,  another 
physics  his  horses,  and  I  suppose,  by  his  being  at 
this  house  last  night,  the  butler  had  locked  up  his 
cellar.  Bless  us !  how  good-nature  is  used  in  this 
world!  I  protest  I  am  more  concerned  on  his 
account  than  my  own."  ''So  am  not  I,"  cries 
Joseph;  "not  that  I  am  much  troubled  about  walk- 
ing on  foot;  all  my  concern  is,  how  we  shall  get 
out  of  the  house,  unless  God  sends  another  peddler 
to  redeem  us.  But  certainly  this  gentleman  has 
such  an  affection  for  you,  that  he  would  lend  you 
a  larger  sum  than  we  owe  here,  which  is  not  above 
four  or  five  shillings."  "Very  true,  child,"  an- 
swered Adams ;  "  I  will  write  a  letter  to  him,  and 
will  even  venture  to  solicit  him  for  three  half- 
crowns;  there  will  be  no  harm  in  having  two  or 
three  shillings  in  our  pockets;  as  we  have  full 
forty  miles  to  travel,  we  may  possibly  have  oc- 
casion for  them." 


22  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

Fanny  being  now  risen,  Joseph  paid  her  a  visit, 
and  left  Adams  to  write  his  letter,  which  having 
finished,  he  dispatched  a  boy  with  it  to  the  gentle- 
man, and  then  seated  himself  by  the  door,  lighted 
his  pipe,  and  betook  himself  to  meditation. 

The  boy  staying  longer  than  seemed  to  be  neces- 
sary, Joseph,  who  with  Fanny  was  now  returned 
to  the  parson,  expressed  some  apprehensions  that 
the  gentleman's  steward  had  locked  up  his  purse 
too.  To  which  Adams  answered,  "It  might  very 
possibly  be,  and  he  should  wonder  at  no  liberties 
which  the  devil  might  put  into  the  head  of  a 
wicked  servant  to  take  with  so  worthy  a  master;" 
but  added,  "that,  as  the  sum  was  so  small,  so 
noble  a  gentleman  would  be  easily  able  to  procure 
it  in  the  parish,  though  he  had  it  not  in  his  own 
pocket.  Indeed,"  says  he,  "if  it  was  four  or  five 
guineas,  or  any  such  large  quantity  of  money,  it 
might  be  a  different  matter." 

They  were  now  sat  down  to  breakfast  over 
some  toast  and  ale,  when  the  boy  returned  and  in- 
formed them  that  the  gentleman  was  not  at  home. 
"Very  well!"  cries  Adams;  "but  why,  child,  did 
you  not  stay  till  his  return?  Go  back  again,  my 
good  boy,  and  wait  for  his  coming  home ;  he  can- 
not be  gone  far,  as  his  horses  are  all  sick;  and 
besides,  he  had  no  intention  to  go  abroad,  for  he 
invited  us  to  spend  this  day  and  to-morrow  at 
his  house.  Therefore  go  back,  child,  and  tarry 
till  his  return  home."  The  messenger  departed, 
and  was  back  again  with  great  expedition,  bring- 
ing an  account  that  the  gentleman  was  gone  a 
long  journey,  and  would  not  be  at  home  again 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  23 

this  montli.  At  these  words  Adams  seemed 
greatly  confounded,  saying,  ' '  Tliis  must  be  a  sud- 
den accident,  as  the  sickness  or  death  of  a  relation 
or  some  such  unforeseen  misfortune;"  and  then, 
turning  to  Joseph,  cried,  ^'I  wish  you  had  re- 
minded me  to  have  borrowed  this  money  last 
night."  Joseph,  smiling,  answered,  "He  was 
very  much  deceived  if  the  gentleman  would  not 
have  found  some  excuse  to  avoid  lending  it. — I 
own,"  says  he,  "I  was  never  much  pleased  with 
his  professing  so  much  kindness  for  you  at  first 
sight ;  for  I  have  heard  the  gentlemen  of  our  cloth 
in  London  tell  many  such  stories  of  their  masters. 
But  when  the  boy  brought  the  message  back  of 
his  not  being  at  home,  I  presently  knew  what 
would  follow ;  for,  whenever  a  man  of  fashion  doth 
not  care  to  fulfill  his  promises,  the  custom  is  to 
order  his  servants  that  he  will  never  be  at  home 
to  the  person  so  promised.  In  London  they  call 
it  denying  him.  I  have  myself  denied  Sir  Thomas 
Booby  above  a  hundred  times,  and  when  the  man 
hath  danced  attendance  for  about  a  month  or 
sometimes  longer,  he  is  acquainted  in  the  end  that 
the  gentleman  is  gone  out  of  town  and  could  do 
nothing  in  the  business." — "Good  Lord!"  says 
Adams,  "what  wickedness  is  there  in  the  Chris- 
tian world!  I  profess  almost  equal  to  what  I 
have  read  of  the  heathens.  But  surely,  Joseph, 
your  suspicions  of  this  gentleman  must  be  unjust, 
for  what  a  silly  fellow  must  he  be  who  would  do 
the  devil's  work  for  nothing!  and  canst  thou  tell 
me  any  interest  he  could  possibly  propose  to  him- 
self by  deceiving  us  in  his  professions!" — "It  is. 


24  THK  HISTORY  OF 

not  for  me,"  answered  Joseph,  '*to  give  reasons 
for  what  men  do,  to  a  gentleman  of  your  learn- 
ing."—''You  say  right,"  quoth  Adams;  ''knowl- 
edge of  men  is  only  to  be  learned  from  books; 
Plato  and  Seneca  for  that ;  and  those  are  authors, 
I  am  afraid,  child,  you  never  read." — "Not  I,  sir, 
truly,"  answered  Joseph;  "all  I  know  is,  it  is  a 
maxim  among  the  gentlemen  of  our  cloth,  that 
those  masters  who  promise  the  most  perform  the 
least ;  and  I  have  often  heard  them  say  they  have 
found  the  largest  vails  in  those  families  where 
they  were  not  promised  any.     But,  sir,  instead  of 
considering  any  farther  these  matters,  it  would 
be  our  wisest  way  to  contrive  some  method  of 
getting  out  of  this  house;  for  the  generous  gen- 
tleman, instead  of  doing  us  any  service,  hath  left 
us  the  whole  reckoning  to  pay."     Adams  was  go- 
ing to  answer,  when  their  host  came  in,  and,  with 
a  kind  of  jeering  smile,  said,  "Well,  masters!  the 
squire  hath  not  sent  his  horses  for  you  yet.     Laud 
help  me!  how  easily  some  folks  make  promises!" 
— "How!"  says  Adams;  "have  you  ever  known 
him  do  anything  of  this  kind  before?" — "Ay! 
marry  have  I,"  answered  the  host:  "it  is  no  busi- 
ness of  mine,  you  know,  sir,  to  say  anything  to  a 
gentleman  to  his  face;  but  now  he  is  not  here, 
I  will  assure  you,  he  hath  not  his  fellow  within 
the  three  next  market-towns.     I  own  I  could  not 
help  laughing  when  I  heard  him  offer  you  the  liv- 
ing, for  thereby  hangs  a  good  jest.     I  thought  he 
would  have  offered  you  my  house  next,  for  one 
is  no  more  his  to  dispose  of  than  the  other."    At 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  25 

these  words  Adams,  blessing  himself,  declared, 
**He  had  never  read  of  such  a  monster.  But 
what  vexes  me  most,"  says  he,  "is,  that  he  hath 
decoyed  us  into  running  up  a  long  debt  with  you, 
which  we  are  not  able  to  pay,  for  we  have  no 
money  about  us,  and,  what  is  worse,  live  at  such  a 
distance,  that  if  you  should  trust  us,  I  am  afraid 
you  would  lose  your  money  for  want  of  our  find- 
ing any  conveniency  of  sending  it. ' ' — ' '  Trust  you, 
master!"  says  the  host,  ''that  I  will  with  all  my 
heart.  I  honor  the  clergy  too  much  to  deny  trust- 
ing one  of  them  for  such  a  trifle;  besides,  I  like 
your  fear  of  never  paying  me.  I  have  lost  many 
a  debt  in  my  lifetime,  but  was  promised  to  be  paid 
them  all  in  a  very  short  time.  I  will  score  this 
reckoning  for  the  novelty  of  it.  It  is  the  first, 
I  do  assure  you,  of  its  kind.  But  what  say  you, 
master,  shall  we  have  t'other  pot  before  we  part? 
It  will  waste  but  a  little  chalk  more,  and  if  you 
never  pay  me  a  shilling  the  loss  will  not  ruin  me." 
Adams  liked  the  invitation  very  well,  especially 
as  it  was  delivered  with  so  hearty  an  accent.  He 
shook  his  host  by  the  hand,  and  thanking  him, 
said,  * '  He  would  tarry  another  pot  rather  for  the 
pleasure  of  such  worthy  company  than  for  the 
liquor;"  adding,  ''he  was  glad  to  find  some  Chris- 
tians left  in  the  kingdom,  for  that  he  almost  began 
to  suspect  that  he  was  sojourning  in  a  country  in- 
habited only  by  Jews  and  Turks." 

The  kind  host  produced  the  liquor,  and  Joseph 
with  Fanny  retired  into  the  garden,  where,  while 
they  solaced  themselves  with  amorous  discourse, 


26  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

Adams  sat  down  with  his  host;  and,  both  filling 
their  glasses,  and  lighting  their  pipes,  they  began 
that  dialogue  which  the  reader  will  find  in  the 
next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  dialogue  between  Mr.  Abraham  Adams  and  his  host,  which, 
by  the  disagreement  in  their  opinions,  seemed  to  threaten 
an  unlucky  catastrophe,  had  it  not  been  timely  prevented 
by  the  return  of  the  lovers. 

^^if^IR,"  said  the  host,  *'I  assure  you  you 
are  not  the  first  to  whora  our  squire 
hath  promised  more  than  he  hath  per- 
formed. He  is  so  famous  for  this  practice,  that 
his  word  will  not  be  taken  for  much  by  those  who 
know  him.  I  remember  a  young  fellow  whom 
he  promised  his  parents  to  make  an  exciseman. 
The  poor  people,  who  could  ill  afford  it,  bred 
their  son  to  writing  and  accounts,  and  other  learn- 
ing to  qualify  him  for  the  place ;  and  the  boy  held 
up  his  head  above  his  condition  with  these  hopes ; 
nor  would  he  go  to  plow,  nor  to  any  other  kind 
of  work,  and  went  constantly  dressed  as  fine  as 
could  be,  with  two  clean  Holland  shirts  a  week, 
and  this  for  several  years ;  till  at  last  he  followed 
the  squire  up  to  London,  thinking  there  to  mind 
him  of  his  promises ;  but  he  could  never  get  sight 
of  him.  So  that,  being  out  of  money  and  business, 
he  fell  into  evil  company  and  wicked  courses; 
and  in  the  end  came  to  a  sentence  of  transporta- 
tion, the  news  of  which  broke  the  mother's  heart. 
— I  will  tell  you  another  true  story  of  him.  There 
was  a  neighbor  of  mine,  a  farmer,  who  had  two 

27 


28  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

sons  whom  he  bred  up  to  the  business.  Pretty 
lads  they  were.  Nothing  would  serve  the  squire 
but  that  the  youngest  must  be  made  a  parson. 
Upon  which  he  persuaded  the  father  to  send  him 
to  school,  promising  that  he  would  afterwards 
maintain  him  at  the  university,  and,  when  he  was 
of  a  proper  age,  give  him  a  living.  But  after  the 
lad  had  been  seven  years  at  school,  and  his  father 
brought  him  to  the  squire,  with  a  letter  from 
his  master  that  he  was  fit  for  the  university, 
the  squire,  instead  of  minding  his  promise, 
or  sending  him  thither  at  his  expense,  only 
told  his  father  that  the  young  man  was  a  fine 
scholar,  and  it  was  pity  he  could  not  afford  to 
keep  him  at  Oxford  for  four  or  five  years  more, 
by  which  time,  if  he  could  get  him  a  curacy,  he 
might  have  him  ordained.  The  farmer  said,  * '  He 
was  not  a  man  sufficient  to  do  any  such  thing." 
— *'Why  then,"  answered  the  squire,  "I  am  very 
sorry  you  have  given  him  so  much  learning;  for, 
if  he  cannot  get  his  living  by  that,  it  will  rather 
spoil  him  for  anything  else;  and  your  other  son, 
who  can  hardly  write  his  name,  will  do  more  at 
plowing  and  sowing,  and  is  in  a  better  condition, 
than  he."  And  indeed  so  it  proved;  for  the  poor 
lad,  not  finding  friends  to  maintain  him  in  his 
learning,  as  he  had  expected,  and  being  unwilling 
to  work,  fell  to  drinking,  though  he  was  a  very 
sober  lad  before ;  and  in  a  short  time,  partly  with 
grief,  and  partly  with  good  liquor,  fell  into  a  con- 
sumption, and  died. — Nay,  I  can  tell  you  more 
still :  there  was  another,  a  young  woman,  and  the 
handsomest  in  all  this  neighborhood,  whom  he 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  29 

enticed  up  to  London,  promising  to  make  her  a 
gentlewoman  to  one  of  your  women  of  quality; 
but,  instead  of  keeping  his  word,  we  have  since 
heard,  after  having  a  child  by  her  himself,  she 
became  a  common  whore ;  then  kept  a  coffee-house 
in  Covent  Garden;  and  a  little  after  died  of  the 
French  distemper  in  a  jail — I  could  tell  you 
many  more  stories;  but  how  do  you  imagine  he 
served  me  myself?  You  must  know,  sir,  I  was 
bred  a  seafaring  man,  and  have  been  many  voy- 
ages; till  at  last  I  came  to  be  master  of  a  ship 
myself,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  of  making  a  for- 
tune, when  I  was  attacked  by  one  of  those  cursed 
guarda-costas  who  took  our  ships  before  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war;  and  after  a  fight,  wherein  I 
lost  the  greater  part  of  my  crew,  my  rigging  being 
all  demolished,  and  two  shots  received  between 
wind  and  water,  I  was  forced  to  strike.  The 
villains  carried  off  my  ship,  a  brigantine  of  150 
tons — a  pretty  creature  she  was — and  put 
me,  a  man,  and  a  boy,  into  a  little  bad  pink,  in 
which,  with  much  ado,  we  at  last  made  Falmouth ; 
though  I  believe  the  Spaniards  did  not  imagine 
she  could  possibly  live  a  day  at  sea.  Upon  my 
return  hither,  where  my  wife,  who  was  of  this 
country,  then  lived,  the  squire  told  me  he  was 
so  pleased  with  the  defense  I  had  made  against  the 
enemy,  that  he  did  not  fear  getting  me  promoted 
to  a  lieutenancy  of  a  man-of-war,  if  I  would  accept 
of  it;  which  I  thankfully  assured  him  I  would. 
Well,  sir,  two  or  three  years  passed,  during  which 
I  had  many  repeated  promises,  not  only  from 
the  squire,  but  (as  he  told  me)  from  the  lords  of 


30  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  admiralty.  He  never  returned  from  London 
but  I  was  assured  I  might  be  satisfied  now,  for 
I  was  certain  of  the  first  vacancy ;  and,  what  sur- 
jorises  me  still,  when  I  reflect  on  it,  these  as- 
surances were  given  me  with  no  less  confidence, 
after  so  many  disappointments,  than  at  first.  At 
last,  sir,  growing  weary,  and  somewhat  suspicious, 
after  so  much  delay,  I  wrote  to  a  friend  in  London, 
who  I  knew  had  some  acquaintance  at  the  best 
house  in  the  admiralty,  and  desired  him  to  back 
the  squire's  interest;  for  indeed  I  feared  he  had 
solicited  the  affair  with  more  coldness  than  he 
i:)retended.  And  what  answer  do  you  think  my 
friend  sent  me?  Truly,  sir,  he  acquainted  me  that 
the  squire  had  never  mentioned  my  name  at  the 
admiralty  in  his  life ;  and  unless  I  had  much  faith- 
fuller  interest,  advised  me  to  give  over  my  pre- 
tensions; which  I  immediately  did,  and,  with  the 
concurrence  of  my  wife,  resolved  to  set  up  an 
alehouse,  where  you  are  heartily  welcome;  and 
so  my  service  to  you;  and  may  the  squire,  and 
all  such  sneaking  rascals,  go  to  the  devil  to- 
gether."— ''0  fie!"  says  Adams,  ''0  fie!  He  is 
indeed  a  wicked  man ;  but  G —  will,  I  hope,  turn 
his  heart  to  repentance.  Nay,  if  he  could  but 
once  see  the  meanness  of  this  detestable  vice; 
would  he  but  once  reflect  that  he  is  one  of  the 
most  scandalous  as  well  as  pernicious  liars;  sure 
he  must  despise  himself  to  so  intolerable  a  degree, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  continue 
a  moment  in  such  a  course.  And  to  confess  the 
truth,  notwithstanding  the  baseness  of  this  char- 
acter, which  he  hath  too  well  deserved,  he  hath 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  31 

in  liis  countenance  sufficient  symptoms  of  that 
bona  indoles,  that  sweetness  of  disposition,  which 
furnishes  out  a  good  Christian." — "Ah,  master! 
master!"  says  the  host,  "if  you  had  traveled  as 
far  as  I  have,  and  conversed  with  the  many 
nations  where  I  have  traded,  you  would  not  give 
any  credit  to  a  man's  countenance.  Symptoms 
in  his  countenance,  quotha!  I  would  look  there, 
perhaps,  to  see  whether  a  man  had  the  small- 
pox, but  for  nothing  else."  He  spoke  this  with 
so  little  regard  to  the  parson's  observation,  that 
it  a  good  deal  nettled  him;  and,  taking  the  pipe 
hastily  from  his  mouth,  he  thus  answered: 
"Master  of  mine,  perhaps  I  have  traveled  a  great 
deal  farther  than  you  without  the  assistance  of 
a  ship.  Do  you  imagine  sailing  by  different  cities 
or  countries  is  traveling?     No. 

"Caelum  non  animum  mutant  qui  trans  mare  eurrimt. 

I  can  go  farther  in  an  afternoon  than  you  in  a 
twelve-month.  What,  I  suppose  you  have  seen  the 
Pillars  of  Hercules,  and  perhaps  the  walls  of  Car- 
thage. Nay,  you  may  have  heard  Scylla,  and  seen 
Charybdis ;  you  may  have  entered  the  closet  where 
Archimedes  was  found  at  the  taking  of  Syracuse, 
I  suppose  you  have  sailed  among  the  Cyclades, 
and  passed  the  famous  straits  which  take  their 
name  from  the  unfortunate  Helle,  whose  fate  is 
sweetly  described  by  Apollonius  Rhodius;  you 
have  passed  the  very  spot,  I  conceive,  where 
Daedalus  fell  into  that  sea,  his  waxen  wings  being 
melted  by  the  sun ;  you  have  traversed  the  Euxine 
sea,  I  make  no  doubt ;  nay,  you  may  have  been  on 


32  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

the  banks  of  the  Caspian,  and  called  at  Colchis, 
to  see  if  there  is  ever  another  golden  fleece." 
''Not  I,  truly  master,"  answered  the  host:  "I 
never  touched  at  any  of  these  places." — "But  I 
have  been  at  all  these,"  replied  Adams.  "Then, 
I  suppose,"  cries  the  host,  "you  have  been  at  the 
East  Indies ;  for  there  are  no  such,  I  will  be  sworn, 
either  in  the  West  or  the  Levant." — "Pray 
Where's  the  Levant?"  quoth  Adams;  "that  should 
be  in  the  East  Indies  by  right."  "Oho!  you  are 
a  pretty  traveler,"  cries  the  host,  "and  not  know 
the  Levant!  My  service  to  you,  master;  you 
must  not  talk  of  these  things  with  me!  you  must 
not  tip  us  the  traveler ;  it  won 't  go  here. "  "  Since 
thou  art  so  dull  to  misunderstand  me  still,"  quoth 
Adams,  "I  will  inform  thee;  the  traveling  I 
mean  is  in  books,  the  only  way  of  traveling  by 
which  any  knowledge  is  to  be  acquired.  From 
them  I  learn  what  I  asserted  just  now,  that  nature 
generally  imprints  such  a  portraiture  of  the  mind 
in  the  countenance,  that  a  skillful  jihysiognomist 
will  rarely  be  deceived.  I  presume  you  have 
never  read  the  story  of  Socrates  to  this  purpose, 
and  therefore  I  will  tell  it  you.  A  certain  phys- 
iognomist asserted  of  Socrates  that  he  plainly  dis- 
covered by  his  features  that  he  was  a  rogue  in  his 
nature.  A  character  so  contrary  to  the  tenor  of 
all  this  great  man's  actions,  and  the  generally 
received  opinion  concerning  him,  incensed  the 
boys  of  Athens  so  that  they  threw  stones  at  the 
physiognomist,  and  would  have  demolished  him 
for  his  ignorance,  had  not  Socrates  himself  pre- 
vented them  by  confessing  the  truth  of  his  obser- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  33 

vations,  and  acknowledging  that,  though  he  cor- 
rected his  disposition  by  philosophy,  he  was 
indeed  naturally  as  inclined  to  vice  as  had  been 
predicted  of  him.  Now,  pray  resolve  me — How 
should  a  man  know  this  story  if  he  had  not  read 
it?"  ''Well,  master,"  said  the  host,  "and  what 
signifies  it  whether  a  man  knows  it  or  no?  He 
who  goes  abroad,  as  I  have  done,  will  always 
have  opportunities  enough  of  knowing  the  world 
without  troubling  his  head  with  Socrates,  or  any 
such  fellows."  ''Friend,"  cries  Adams,  "if  a 
man  should  sail  round  the  world,  and  anchor  in 
every  harbor  of  it,  without  learning,  he  would 
return  home  as  ignorant  as  he  went  out."  "Lord 
help  you ! ' '  answered  the  host ;  ' '  there  was  my 
boatswain,  poor  fellow!  he  could  scarce  either 
write  or  read,  and  yet  he  would  navigate  a  ship 
with  any  master  of  a  man-of-war;  and  a  very 
pretty  knowledge  of  trade  he  had  too." 
"Trade,"  answered  Adams,  "as  Aristotle  proves 
in  his  first  chapter  of  Politics,  is  below  a  philoso- 
pher, and  unnatural  as  it  is  managed  now. ' '  The 
host  looked  steadfastly  at  Adams,  and  after  a 
minute's  silence  asked  him,  "If  he  was  one  of 
the  writers  of  the  Gazetteers  1  for  I  have  heard, ' ' 
says  he,  "they  are  writ  by  parsons."  "Gazet- 
teers!" answered  Adams,  "what  is  that!"  "It 
is  a  dirty  newspaper,"  replied  the  host,  "which 
hath  been  given  away  all  over  the  nation  for 
these  many  years,  to  abuse  trade  and  honest  men, 
which  I  would  not  suffer  to  lie  on  my  table, 
though  it  hath  been  offered  me  for  nothing." 
"Not  I  truly,"  said  Adams;  "I  never   write  any- 

II— 3 


34  THE  HISTORY  OF 

thing  but  sermons;  and  I  assure  you  I  am  no 
enemy  to  trade,  whilst  it  is  consistent  with 
honesty ;  nay,  I  have  always  looked  on  the  trades- 
man as  a  very  valuable  member  of  society,  and, 
perhaps  inferior  to  none  but  the  man  of  learn- 
ing." *'No,  I  believe  he  is  not,  nor  to  him 
neither,"  answered  the  host.  ^*0f  what  use 
would  learning  be  in  a  country  without  trade? 
What  would  all  you  parsons  do  to  clothe  your 
backs  and  feed  your  bellies?  Who  fetches  you 
your  silks,  and  your  linens,  and  your  wines,  and 
all  the  other  necessaries  of  life?  I  speak  chiefly 
with  regard  to  the  sailors."  ''You  should  say 
the  extravagancies  of  life,"  replied  the  joarson; 
''but  admit  they  were  the  necessaries,  there  is 
something  more  necessary  than  life  itself,  which 
is  provided  by  learning;  I  mean  the  learning  of 
the  clergy.  Who  clothes  you  with  piety,  meek- 
ness, humility,  charity,  patience,  and  all  the  other 
Christian  virtues?  Who  feeds  your  souls  with 
the  milk  of  brotherly  love,  and  diets  them  with 
all  the  dainty  food  of  holiness,  which  at  once 
cleanses  them  all  of  impure  carnal  affections,  and 
fattens  them  with  the  truly  rich  spirit  of  grace? 
Who  doth  this?"  "Ay,  who,  indeed?"  cries  the 
host;  "for  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen 
any  such  clothing  or  such  feeding.  And  so,  in 
the  mean  time,  master,  my  service  to  you." 
Adams  was  going  to  answer  with  some  severity, 
when  Joseph  and  Fanny  returned  and  pressed 
his  departure  so  eagerly  that  he  would  not  re- 
fuse them ;  and  so,  grasping  his  crabstick,  he  took 
leave  of  his  host  (neither  of  them  being  so  well 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  35 

pleased  with  each  other  as  they  had  been  at  their 
first  sitting  down  together),  and  with  Joseph  and 
Fanny,  who  both  expressed  much  impatience,  de- 
parted, and  now  all  together  renewed  their 
journey. 


BOOK  ni 
CHAPTER  I 

Matter  prefator  in  praise  of  biography. 

NOTAVITHSTANDING  the  preference 
which  may  be  vulgarly  given  to  the  au- 
thority of  those  romance  writers  who 
entitle  their  books  "the  History  of  England,  the 
History  of  France,  of  Spain,  &c.,"  it  is  most  cer- 
tain that  truth  is  to  be  found  only  in  the  works 
of  those  who  celebrate  the  lives  of  great  men,  and 
are  commonly  called  biographers,  as  the  others 
should  indeed  be  termed  topographers,  or  chorog- 
raphers;  words  which  might  well  mark  the  dis- 
tinction between  them;  it  being  the  business  of 
the  latter  chiefly  to  describe  countries  and  cities, 
which,  with  the  assistance  of  maps,  they  do  pretty 
justly,  and  may  be  depended  upon;  but  as  to  the 
actions  and  characters  of  men,  their  writings  are 
not  quite  so  authentic,  of  which  there  needs  no 
other  proof  than  those  eternal  contradictions  oc- 
curring between  two  topographers  who  undertake 
the  history  of  the  same  country:  for  instance,  be- 
tween my  Lord  Clarendon  and  Mr.  Whitelocke, 
between  Mr.  Echard  and  Rapin,  and  many  others ; 
where,  facts  being  set  forth  in  a  different  light, 
every  reader  believes  as  he  pleases;  and,  indeed, 
the  more  judicious   and   suspicious   very  justly 

36 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  37 

esteem  the  whole  as  no  other  than  a  romance,  in 
which  the  writer  hath  indulged  a  happy  and  fertile 
invention.  But  though  these  widely  differ  in  the 
narrative  of  facts;  some  ascribing  victory  to  the 
one  and  others  to  the  other  party;  some  repre- 
senting the  same  man  as  a  rogue,  ivhile  others 
give  him  a  great  and  honest  character;  yet  all 
agree  in  the  scene  where  the  fact  is  supposed  to 
have  happened,  and  where  the  person,  who  is 
both  a  rogue  and  an  honest  man,  lived.  Now 
with  us  biographers  the  case  is-  different;  the 
facts  we  deliver  may  be  relied  on,  though  we  often 
mistake  the  age  and  country  wherein  they  hap- 
pened :  for,  though  it  may  be  worth  the  examina- 
tion of  critics,  whether  the  shepherd  Chrysostom, 
who,  as  Cervantes  informs  us,  died  for  love  of 
the  fair  Marcella,  who  hated  him,  was  ever  in 
Spain,  will  any  one  doubt  but  that  such  a  silly 
fellow  hath  really  existed?  Is  there  in  the  world 
such  a  skeptic  as  to  disbelieve  the  madness  of  Car- 
denio,  the  perfidy  of  Ferdinand,  the  impertinent 
curiosity  of  Anselmo,  the  weakness  of  Camilla,  the 
irresolute  friendship  of  Lothario?  though  per- 
haps, as  to  the  time  and  place  where  those  several 
persons  lived,  that  good  historian  may  be  deplor- 
ably deficient.  But  the  most  known  instance  of 
this  kind  is  in  the  true  history  of  Gil  Bias,  where 
the  inimitable  biographer  hath  made  a  notorious 
blunder  in  the  country  of  Dr.  Sangrado,  who 
used  his  patients  as  a  vintner  doth  his  wine-ves- 
sels, by  letting  out  their  blood,  and  filling  them 
up  with  water.  Doth  not  every  one,  who  is  the 
least  versed  in  physical  history,  know  that  Spain 


38  THE  HISTORY  OF 

was  not  the  country  in  which  this  doctor  lived? 
The  same  writer  hath  likewise  erred  in  the 
country  of  his  archbishop,  as  well  as  that  of  those 
great  personages  whose  understandings  were  too 
sublime  to  taste  anything  but  tragedy,  and  in 
many  others.  The  same  mistakes  may  likewise 
be  observed  in  Scarron,  the  Arabian  Nights,  the 
History  of  Marianne  and  le  Paisan  Parvenu,  and 
perhaps  some  few  other  writers  of  this  class, 
whom  I  have  not  read,  or  do  not  at  present  recol- 
lect; for  I  would  by  no  means  be  thought  to  com- 
prehend those  persons  of  surprising  genius,  the 
authors  of  immense  romances,  or  the  modern  nov- 
el and  Atalantis  writers ;  who,  without  any  assist- 
ance from  nature  or  history,  record  persons  who 
never  were,  or  will  be,  and  facts  which  never 
did,  nor  possibly  can,  happen;  whose  heroes  are 
of  their  own  creation,  and  their  brains  the  chaos 
whence  all  their  materials  are  selected.  Not  that 
such  writers  deserve  no  honor;  so  far  otherwise, 
that  perhaps  they  merit  the  highest ;  for  what  can 
be  nobler  than  to  be  as  an  example  of  the  wonder- 
ful extent  of  human  genius!  One  may  apply  to 
them  what  Balzac  says  of  Aristotle,  that  they  are 
a  second  nature  (for  they  have  no  communication 
with  the  first;  by  which,  authors  of  an  inferior 
class,  who  cannot  stand  alone,  are  obliged  to 
support  themselves  as  with  crutches) ;  but  these 
of  whom  I  am  now  speaking  seem  to  be  possessed 
of  those  stilts,  which  the  excellent  Voltaire  tells 
us,  in  his  letters,  ''carry  the  genius  far  off,  but 
with  an  regular  pace."  Indeed,  far  out  of  the 
sight  of  the  reader, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  39 

Beyond  the  realm  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 

But  to  return  to  the  former  class,  who  are  con- 
tented to  copy  nature,  instead  of  forming  originals 
from  the  confused  heap  of  matter  in  their  own 
brains,  is  not  such  a  book  as  that  which  records 
the  achievements  of  the  renowned  Don  Quixote 
more  worthy  the  name  of  a  history  than  even 
Mariana's:  for,  whereas  the  latter  is  confined  to 
a  particular  period  of  time,  and  to  a  particular 
nation,  the  former  is  the  history  of  the  world  in 
general,  at  least  that  part  which  is  polished  by 
laws,  arts,  and  sciences;  and  of  that  from  the 
time  it  was  first  polished  to  this  day;  nay,  and 
forwards  as  long  as  it  shall  so  remain? 

I  shall  now  proceed  to  apply  these  observations 
to  the  work  before  us ;  for  indeed  I  have  set  them 
down  principally  to  obviate  some  constructions 
which  the  good-nature  of  mankind,  who  are  always 
forward  to  see  their  friends'  virtues  recorded, 
may  put  to  particular  parts.  I  question  not  but 
several  of  my  readers  will  know  the  lawyer  in 
the  stage-coach  the  moment  they  hear  his  voice. 
It  is  likewise  odds  but  the  wit  and  the  prude  meet 
with  some  of  their  acquaintance,  as  well  as  all 
the  rest  of  my  characters.  To  prevent,  therefore, 
any  such  malicious  applications,  I  declare  here, 
once  for  all,  I  describe  not  men,  but  manners; 
not  an  individual,  but  a  species.  Perhaps  it  will 
be  answered,  Are  not  the  characters  then  taken 
from  life?  To  which  I  answer  in  the  affirmative; 
nay,  I  believe  I  might  aver  that  I  have  writ  little 
more  than  I  have  seen.    The  lawyer  is  not  only 


40  THE  HISTORY  OF 

alive,  but  hath  been  so  these  four  thousand  years ; 
and  I  hope  G —  will  indulge  his  life  as  many  yet 
to  come.  He  hath  not  indeed  confined  himself 
to  one  profession,  one  religion,  or  one  country; 
but  when  the  first  mean  selfish  creature  appeared 
on  the  human  stage,  who  made  self  the  center  of 
the  whole  creation,  would  give  himself  no  pain,  in- 
cur no  danger,  advance  no  money,  to  assist  or  pre- 
serve his  fellow-creatures;  then  was  our  lawyer 
born;  and,  whilst  such  a  person  as  I  have  de- 
scribed exists  on  earth,  so  long  shall  he  remain 
upon  it.  It  is,  therefore,  doing  him  little  honor 
to  imagine  he  endeavors  to  mimic  some  little 
obscure  fellow,  because  he  happens  to  resemble 
him  in  one  particular  feature,  or  perhaps  in  his 
profession;  whereas  his  appearance  in  the  world 
is  calculated  for  much  more  general  and  noble 
purposes ;  not  to  expose  one  pitiful  wretch  to  the 
small  and  contemptible  circle  of  his  acquaintance ; 
but  to  hold  the  glass  to  thousands  in  their  closets, 
that  they  may  contemplate  their  deformity,  and 
endeavor  to  reduce  it,  and  thus  by  suffering 
private  mortification  may  avoid  public  shame. 
This  places  the  boundary  between,  and  distin- 
guishes the  satirist  from  the  libeler:  for  the 
former  privately  corrects  the  fault  for  the  benefit 
of  the  person,  like  a  parent;  the  latter  publicly 
exposes  the  person  himself,  as  an  example  to 
others,  like  an  executioner. 

There  are  besides  little  circumstances  to  be 
considered;  as  the  drapery  of  a  picture,  which 
though  fashion  varies  at  different  times,  the  re- 
semblance  of  the   countenance  is  not  by   those 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  41 

means  diminished.  Thus  I  believe  we  may  ven- 
ture to  say  Mrs.  Tow-wouse  is  coeval  with  our 
lawyer :  and,  though  perhaps,  during  the  changes 
which  so  long  an  existence  must  have  passed 
through,  she  may  in  her  turn  have  stood  behind 
the  bar  at  an  inn,  I  will  not  scruple  to  affirm  she 
hath  likewise  in  the  revolution  of  ages  sat  on  a 
throne.  In  short,  where  extreme  turbulency  of 
temper,  avarice,  and  an  insensibility  of  human 
misery,  with  a  degree  of  hypocrisy,  have  united 
in  a  female  composition,  Mrs.  Tow-wouse  was 
that  woman;  and  where  a  good  inclination, 
eclipsed  by  a  poverty  of  spirit  and  understand- 
ing, hath  glimmered  forth  in  a  man,  that  man 
hath  been  no  other  than  her  sneaking  husband. 
I  shall  detain  my  reader  no  longer  than  to  give 
him  one  caution  more  of  an  opposite  kind :  for,  as 
in  most  of  our  particular  characters  we  mean  not 
to  lash  individuals,  but  all  of  the  like  sort,  so, 
in  our  general  descriptions,  we  mean  not  uni- 
versals,  but  would  be  understood  with  many  ex- 
ceptions :  for  instance,  in  our  description  of  high 
people,  we  cannot  be  intended  to  include  such 
as,  whilst  they  are  an  honor  to  their  high  rank, 
by  a  well-guided  condescension  make  their  superi- 
ority as  easy  as  possible  to  those  whom  for- 
tune chiefly  hath  placed  below  them.  Of  this 
number  I  could  name  a  peer  no  less  elevated 
by  nature  than  by  fortune;  who,  whilst  he  wears 
the  noblest  ensigns  of  honor  on  his  person,  bears 
the  truest  stamp  of  dignity  on  his  mind,  adorned 
with  greatness,  enriched  with  knowledge,  and  em- 
bellished with  genius.    I  have  seen  this  man  re- 


42  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

lieve  with  generosity,  while  he  hath  conversed 
with  freedom,  and  be  to  the  same  person  a  patron 
and  a  companion.  I  could  name  a  commoner, 
raised  higher  above  the  multitude  by  superior 
talents  than  is  in  the  power  of  his  prince  to  exalt 
him,  whose  behavior  to  those  he  hath  obliged  is 
more  amiable  than  the  obligation  itself;  and  who 
is  so  great  a  master  of  affability,  that,  if  he 
could  divest  himself  of  an  inherent  greatness  in 
his  manner,  would  often  make  the  lowest  of  his 
acquaintance  forget  who  was  the  master  of  that 
palace  in  which  they  are  so  courteously  enter- 
tained. These  are  pictures  which  must  be,  I  be- 
lieve, known:  I  declare  they  are  taken  from  the 
life,  and  not  intended  to  exceed  it.  By  those  high 
people,  therefore,  whom  I  have  described,  I  mean 
a  set  of  wretches,  who,  while  they  are  a  disgrace 
to  their  ancestors,  whose  honors  and  fortunes 
they  inherit  (or  perhaj^s  a  greater  to  their  mother, 
for  such  degeneracy  is  scarce  credible),  have 
the  insolence  to  treat  those  with  disregard  who 
are  at  least  equal  to  the  founders  of  their  own 
splendor.  It  is,  I  fancy,  impossible  to  conceive 
a  spectacle  more  worthy  of  our  indignation,  than 
that  of  a  fellow,  who  is  not  only  a  blot  in  the 
escutcheon  of  a  great  family,  but  a  scandal  to 
the  human  species,  maintaining  a  supercilious  be- 
havior to  men  who  are  an  honor  to  their  nature 
and  a  disgrace  to  their  fortune. 

And  now,  reader,  taking  these  hints  along  with 
you,  you  may,  if  you  please,  proceed  to  the  se- 
quel of  this  our  true  history. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  night  scene,  wherein   several  wonderful  adventures  befell 
Adams  and  his  fellow-travelers. 

IT  was  so  late  when  our  travelers  left  the  inn 
or  ale-house  (for  it  might  be  called  either), 
that  they  had  not  traveled  many  miles  be- 
fore night  overtook  them,  or  met  them,  which  you 
please.  The  reader  must  excuse  me  if  I  am  not 
particular  as  to  the  way  they  took;  for,  as  we 
are  now  drawing  near  the  seat  of  the  Boobies, 
and  as  that  is  a  ticklish  name,  which  malicious 
persons  may  apply,  according  to  their  evil  incli- 
nations, to  several  worthy  country  squires,  a  race 
of  men  whom  we  look  upon  as  entirely  inoffensive, 
and  for  whom  we  have  an  adequate  regard,  we 
shall  lend  no  assistance  to  any  such  malicious  pur- 
poses. 

Darkness  had  now  overspread  the  hemisphere, 
when  Fanny  whispered  Joseph  *'that  she  begged 
to  rest  herself  a  little;  for  that  she  was  so  tired 
she  could  walk  no  farther."  Joseph  immediately 
prevailed  with  parson  Adams,  who  was  as  brisk 
as  a  bee,  to  stop.  He  had  no  sooner  seated 
himself  than  he  lamented  the  loss  of  his  dear 
^schylus;  but  was  a  little  comforted  when  re- 
minded that,  if  he  had  it  in  his  possession,  he 
could  not  see  to  read. 

The  sky  was  so  clouded,  that  not  a  star  ap- 
peared.   It  was  indeed,  according  to  Milton,  dark- 

43 


44  THE  HISTORY  OF 

ness  visible.  This  was  a  circumstance,  however, 
very  favorable  to  Joseph;  for  Fanny,  not  sus- 
picious of  being  overseen  by  Adams,  gave  a  loose 
to  her  passion  which  she  had  never  done  before, 
and,  reclining  her  head  on  his  bosom,  threw  her 
arm  carelessly  round  him,  and  suffered  him  to 
lay  his  cheek  close  to  hers.  All  this  infused  such 
happiness  into  Joseph,  that  he  would  not  have 
changed  his  turf  for  the  finest  down  in  the  finest 
palace  in  the  universe. 

Adams  sat  at  some  distance  from  the  lovers, 
and,  being  unwilling  to  disturb  them,  applied  him- 
self to  meditation;  in  which  he  had  not  spent 
much  time  before  he  discovered  a  light  at  som« 
distance  that  seemed  approaching  towards  him. 
He  immediately  hailed  it ;  but,  to  his  sorrow  and 
surprise  it  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  then 
disappeared.  He  then  called  to  Joseph,  asking 
him,  "it  he  had  not  seen  the  light?"  Joseph  an- 
swered, ^'he  had." — ^'And  did  you  not  mark  how 
it  vanished?"  returned  he:  *' though  I  am  not 
afraid  of  ghosts,  I  do  not  absolutely  disbelieve 
them." 

He  then  entered  into  a  meditation  on  those 
unsubstantial  beings ;  which  was  soon  interrupted 
by  several  voices,  which  he  thought  almost  at  his 
elbow,  though  in  fact  they  were  not  so  extremely 
near.  However,  he  could  distinctly  hear  them 
agree  on  the  murder  of  any  one  they  met ;  and  a 
little  after  heard  one  of  them  say,  "he  had  killed 
a  dozen  since  that  day  fortnight." 

Adams  now  fell  on  his  knees,  and  committed 
himself   to    the   care   of   Providence;    and   poor 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  45 

Fanny,  who  likewise  heard  those  terrible  words, 
embraced  Joseph  so  closely,  that  had  not  he, 
whose  ears  were  also  open,  been  apprehensive 
on  her  account,  he  would  have  thought  no  danger 
which  threatened  only  himself  too  dear  a  price 
for  such  embraces. 

Joseph  now  drew  forth  his  penknife,  and 
Adams,  having  finished  his  ejaculations,  grasped 
his  crab-stick,  his  only  weapon,  and  coming  up  to 
Joseph,  would  have  had  him  quit  Fanny,  and 
place  her  in  the  rear ;  but  his  advice  was  fruitless ; 
she  clung  closer  to  him,  not  at  all  regarding  the 
presence  of  Adams,  and  in  a  soothing  voice  de- 
clared, "she  would  die  in  his  arms."  Joseph, 
clasping  her  with  inexpressible  eagerness,  whis- 
pered her,  "that  he  preferred  death  in  hers  to 
life  out  of  them."  Adams,  brandishing  his  crab- 
stick,  said,  "he  despised  death  as  much  as  any 
man,"  and  then  repeated  aloud — 

"Est  hie,  est  animus  lueis  eontemptor  et  ilium, 
Qui  vita  bene  eredat  emi  quo  tendis,  honorem." 

Upon  this  the  voices  ceased  for  a  moment,  and 
then  one  of  them  called  out,  "D — ^n  you,  who  is 
there?"  To  which  Adams  was  prudent  enough 
to  make  no  reply;  and  of  a  sudden  he  observed 
half-a-dozen  lights,  which  seemed  to  rise  all  at 
once  from  the  ground  and  advance  briskly  to- 
wards him.  This  he  immediately  concluded  to 
be  an  apparition;  and  now,  beginning  to  con- 
ceive that  the  voices  were  of  the  same  kind,  he 
called  out,  "In  the  name  of  the  L — d,  what 
wouldst  thou  have?"    He  had  no  sooner  spoke 


46  THE  HISTORY  OF 

tlian  he  heard  one  of  the  voices  cry  out,  ''D — n 
them,  here  they  come ; ' '  and  soon  after  heard  sev- 
eral hearty  blows,  as  if  a  number  of  men  had  been 
engaged  at  quarter  staff.  He  was  just  advancing 
towards  the  place  of  combat,  when  Joseph,  catch- 
ing him  by  the  skirts,  begged  him  that  they  might 
take  the  opportunity  of  the  dark  to  convey  away 
Fanny  from  the  danger  which  threatened  her. 
He  i3resently  complied,  and,  Joseph  lifting  up 
Fanny,  they  all  three  made  the  best  of  their  way ; 
and  without  looking  behind  them,  or  being  over- 
taken, they  had  traveled  full  two  miles,  poor 
Fanny  not  once  complaining  of  being  tired,  when 
they  saw  afar  off  several  lights  scattered  at  a 
small  distance  from  each  other,  and  at  the  same 
time  found  themselves  on  the  descent  of  a  very 
•steep  hill.  Adams's  foot  slipping,  he  instantly 
disappeared,  which  greatly  frightened  both 
Joseph 'and  Fanny:  indeed,  if  the  light  had  per- 
mitted them  to  see  it,  they  would  scarce  have 
refrained  laughing  to  see  the  parson  rolling  down 
the  hill;  which  he  did  from  top  to  bottom,  with- 
out receiving  any  harm.  He  then  hollowed  as 
loud  as  he  could,  to  inform  them  of  his  safety, 
and  relieve  them  from  the  fears  which  they  had 
conceived  for  him.  Joseph  and  Fanny  halted 
some  time,  considering  what  to  do ;  at  last  they 
advanced  a  few  paces,  where  the  declivity  seemed 
least  steep;  and  then  Joseph  taking  his  Fanny  in 
his  arms,  walked  firmly  down  the  hill,  without 
making  a  false  step,  and  at  length  landed  her  at 
the  bottom,  where  Adams  soon  came  to  them. 
Learn  hence,  my  fair  countrywomen,  to  consider 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  47 

your  own  weakness,  and  the  many  occasions  on 
which  the  strength  of  a  man  may  be  useful  to  you ; 
and,  duly  weighing  this,  take  care  that  you  match 
not  yourselves  with  the  spindle-shanked  beaux  and 
petit-mattres  of  the  age,  who,  instead  of  being 
able,  like  Joseph  Andrews,  to  carry  you  in  lusty 
arms  through  the  rugged  ways  and  downhill 
steeps  of  life,  will  rather  want  to  support  their 
feeble  limbs  with  your  strength  and  assistance. 

Our  travelers  now  moved  forwards  where  the 
nearest  light  presented  itself;  and,  having  crossed 
a  common  field,  they  came  to  a  meadow,  where 
they  seemed  to  be  at  a  very  little  distance  from 
the  light,  when,  to  their  grief,  they  arrived  at 
the  banks  of  a  river.  Adams  here  made  a  full 
stop,  and  declared  he  could  swim,  but  doubted  how 
it  was  possible  to  get  Fanny  over :  to  which  Joseph 
answered,  "If  they  walked  along  its  banks,  they 
might  be  certain  of  soon  finding  a  bridge,  espe- 
cially as  by  the  number  of  lights  they  might  be 
assured  a  parish  was  near."  "Odso,  that's  true 
indeed,"  said  Adams;  ''I  did  not  think  of  that." 

Accordingly,  Joseph's  advice  being  taken,  they 
passed  over  two  meadows,  and  came  to  a  little 
orchard,  which  led  them  to  a  house.  Fanny 
begged  of  Joseph  to  knock  at  the  door,  assuring 
him,  "she  was  so  weary  that  she  could  hardly 
stand  on  her  feet."  Adams,  who  was  foremost, 
performed  this  ceremony;  and,  the  door  being 
immediately  opened,  a  plain  kind  of  man  appeared 
at  it:  Adams  acquainted  him  "that  they  had  a 
young  woman  with  them  who  was  so  tired  with 
her  journey  that  he  should  be  much  obliged  to 


48  THE  HISTORY  OF 

him  if  he  would  suffer  her  to  come  in  and  rest 
herself."  The  man,  who  saw  Fanny  by  the  light 
of  the  candle  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  perceiving 
her  innocent  and  modest  look,  and  having  no  ap- 
prehensions from  the  civil  behavior  of  Adams, 
presently  answered,  ' '  That  the  young  woman  was 
very  welcome  to  rest  herself  in  his  house,  and  so 
were  her  company."  He  then  ushered  them  into 
a  very  decent  room,  where  his  wife  was  sitting 
at  a  table :  she  immediately  rose  up,  and  assisted 
them  in  setting  forth  chairs,  and  desired  them  to 
sit  down;  which  they  had  no  sooner  done  than 
the  man  of  the  house  asked  them  if  they  would 
have  anything  to  refresh  themselves  with  1  Adams 
thanked  him,  and  answered  he  should  be  obliged  to 
him  for  a  cup  of  his  ale,  which  was  likewise  chosen 
by  Joseph  and  Fanny.  Whilst  he  was  gone  to 
fill  a  very  large  jug  with  this  liquor,  his  wife  told 
Fanny  she  seemed  greatly  fatigued,  and  desired 
her  to  take  something  stronger  than  ale;  but  she 
refused  with  manj^  thanks,  saying  it  was  true  she 
was  very  much  tired,  but  a  little  rest  she  hoped 
would  restore  her.  As  soon  as  the  company  were 
all  seated,  Mr.  Adams,  who  had  filled  himself 
with  ale,  and  by  public  permission  had  lighted  his 
pipe,  turned  to  the  master  of  the  house,  asking 
him,  '*If  evil  spirits  did  not  use  to  walk  in  that 
neighborhood?"  To  which  receiving  no  answer, 
he  began  to  inform  him  of  the  adventure  which 
they  met  with  on  the  downs ;  nor  had  he  proceeded 
far  in  the  story  when  somebody  knocked  very 
hard  at  the  door.  The  company  expressed  some 
amazement,    and    Fann)^   and    the   good   woman 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  49 

turned  pale:  her  husband  went  forth,  and  whilst 
he  was  absent,  which  was  some  time,  they  all 
remained  silent,  looking  at  one  another,  and  heard 
several  voices  discoursing  pretty  loudly.  Adams 
was  fully  persuaded  that  spirits  were  abroad,  and 
began  to  meditate  some  exorcisms;  Joseph  a 
little  inclined  to  the  same  opinion;  Fanny  was 
more  afraid  of  men ;  and  the  good  woman  herself 
began  to  suspect  her  guests,  and  imagined  those 
without  were  rogues  belonging  to  their  gang.  At 
length  the  master  of  the  house  returned,  and, 
laughing,  told  Adams  he  had  discovered  his  ap- 
parition ;  that  the  murderers  were  sheep-stealers, 
and  the  twelve  persons  murdered  were  no  other 
than  twelve  sheep ;  adding,  that  the  shepherds  had 
got  the  better  of  them,  had  secured  two,  and  were 
proceeding  with  them  to  a  justice  of  peace.  This 
account  greatly  relieved  the  fears  of  the  whole 
company;  but  Adams  muttered  to  himself,  '^He 
was  convinced  of  the  truth  of  apparitions  for  all 
that." 

They  now  sat  cheerfully  round  the  fire,  till  the 
master  of  the  house,  having  surveyed  his  guests, 
and  conceiving  that  the  cassock,  which,  having 
fallen  down,  appeared  under  Adams's  greatcoat, 
and  the  shabby  livery  on  Joseph  Andrews,  did  not 
well  suit  with  the  familiarity  between  them,  began 
to  entertain  some  suspicions  not  much  to  their 
advantage:  addressing  himself  therefore  to 
Adams,  he  said,  *'He  perceived  he  was  a  clergy- 
man by  his  dress,  and  supposed  that  honest  man 
was  his  footman."  **Sir,"  answered  Adams,  "I 
am  a  clergyman  at  your  service;  but  as  to  that 

II— 4 


50  THE  HISTORY  OF 

young  man,  whom  you  have  rightly  termed  hon- 
est, he  is  at  present  in  nobody's  service;  he  never 
lived  in  any  other  family  than  that  of  Lady  Booby, 
from  whence  he  was  discharged,  I  assure  you,  for 
no  crime. ' '    Joseph  said, ' '  He  did  not  wonder  the 
gentleman    was    surprised    to    see    one    of    Mr. 
Adams's  character  condescend  to  so  much  good- 
ness with  a  poor  man."— ''Child, '*  said  Adams, 
''I  should  be  ashamed  of  my  cloth  if  I  thought 
a  poor  man,  who  is  honest,  below  my  notice  or  my 
familiarity.    I  know  not  how  those  who  think 
otherwise  can  profess  themselves  followers  and 
servants  of  Him  who  made  no  distinction,  unless, 
peradventure,  by  preferring  the  poor  to  the  rich. 
— Sir,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  to  the  gentle- 
men, ''these  two  poor  young  people  are  my  parish- 
ioners, and  I  look  on  them  and  love  them  as  my 
children.     There  is  something  singular  enough  in 
their  history,  but  I  have  not  now  time  to  recount 
it."     The  master  of  the  house,  notwithstanding 
the  simplicity  which  discovered  itself  in  Adams, 
knew  too  much  of  the  world  to  give  a  hasty  belief 
to  professions.    He  was  not  yet  quite  certain  that 
Adams  had  any  more  of  the  clergyman  in  him 
than  his  cassock.     To  try  him  therefore  further, 
he  asked  him,  "If  Mr.  Pope  had  lately  published 
anything    new?"    Adams    answered,    "He    had 
heard  great  commendations  of  that  poet,  but  that 
he  had  never  read  nor  knew  any  of  his  works." — 
"Ho!  ho!"  says  the  gentleman  to  himself,  "have 
I  caught  you !    What ! ' '  said  he,  ' '  have  you  never 
seen  his  Homer?"     Adams  answered,  "he  had 
never    read    any    translation    of    the    classics." 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  51 

''Why,  truly,"  replied  the  gentleman,  ''there  is  a 
dignity  in  the  Greek  language  which  I  think  no 
modern  tongue  can  reach." — "Do  you  understand 
Greek,  sir?"  said  Adams  hastily.  "A  little,  sir," 
answered  the  gentleman.  "Do  you  know,  sir," 
cried  Adams,  "where  I  can  buy  an  ^schylus?  an 
unlucky  misfortune  lately  happened  to  mine." 
^schylus  was  beyond  the  gentleman,  though  he 
knew  him  very  well  by  name ;  he  therefore,  return- 
ing back  to  Homer,  asked  Adams,  "What  part  of 
the  Iliad  he  thought  most  excellent  T'  Adams  re- 
turned, "His  question  would  be  properer,  What 
kind  of  beauty  was  the  chief  in  poetry?  for  that 
Homer  was  equally  excellent  in  them  all.  And, 
indeed,"  continued  he,  "what  Cicero  says  of  a 
complete  orator  may  well  be  applied  to  a  great 
poet:  'He  ought  to  comprehend  all  perfections.' 
Homer  did  this  in  the  most  excellent  degree;  it  is 
not  without  reason,  therefore,  that  the  philoso- 
pher, in  the  twenty-second  chajiter  of  his  Poetics, 
mentions  him  by  no  other  appellation  than  that  of 
the  Poet.  He  was  the  father  of  the  drama  as  well 
as  the  epic;  not  of  tragedy  only,  but  of  comedy 
also;  for  his  Margites,  which  is  deplorably  lost, 
bore,  says  Aristotle,  the  same  analog}^  to  comedy 
as  his  Odyssey  and  Iliad  to  tragedy.  To  him, 
therefore,  we  owe  Aristophanes  as  well  as  Eurip- 
ides, Sophocles,  and  my  poor  xEschylus.  But  if 
you  please  we  will  confine  ourselves  (at  least  for 
the  present)  to  the  Iliad,  his  noblest  work;  though 
neither  Aristotle  nor  Horace  give  it  the  prefer- 
ence, as  I  remember,  to  the  Odyssey.  First,  then, 
as  to  his  subject,  can  anything  be  more  simple,  and 


52  THE  HISTORY  OF 

at  the  same  time  more  noble'?  He  is  rightly 
praised  by  the  first  of  those  judicious  critics  for 
not  choosing  the  whole  war,  which,  though  he  says 
it  hath  a  complete  beginning  and  end,  would  have 
been  too  great  for  the  understanding  to  compre- 
hend at  one  view.  I  have,  therefore,  often  won- 
dered why  so  correct  a  writer  as  Horace  should, 
in  his  epistle  to  Lollius,  call  him  the  Trojani  Belli 
Scriptorem.  Secondly,  his  action,  termed  by 
Aristotle,  Pragmaton  Systasis;  is  it  possible  for 
the  mind  of  man  to  conceive  an  idea  of  such  per- 
fect unity,  and  at  the  same  time  so  replete  with 
greatness?  And  here  I  must  observe,  what  I  do 
not  remember  to  have  seen  noted  by  any,  the  Har- 
motton,  that  agreement  of  his  action  to  his  sub- 
ject: for,  as  the  subject  is  anger,  how  agreeable 
is  his  action,  which  is  war ;  from  which  every  inci- 
dent arises  and  to  which  every  episode  immedi- 
ately relates.  Thirdly,  his  manners,  which  Aris- 
totle places  second  in  his  description  of  the  sev- 
eral parts  of  tragedy,  and  which  he  says  are  in- 
cluded in  the  action;  I  am  at  a  loss  whether  I 
should  rather  admire  the  exactness  of  his  judg- 
ment in  the  nice  distinction  or  the  immensity  of 
his  imagination  in  their  variety.  For,  as  to  the 
former  of  these,  how  accurately  is  the  sedate,  in- 
jured resentment  of  Achilles,  distinguished  from 
the  hot,  insulting  passion  of  Agamemnon !  How 
widely  doth  the  brutal  courage  of  Ajax  differ  from 
the  amiable  bravery  of  Diomedes;  and  the  wisdom 
of  Nestor,  which  is  the  result  of  long  reflection 
and  experience,  from  the  cunning  of  Ulysses,  the 
effect  of  art  and  subtlety  only!    If  we  consider 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  53 

their  variety,  we  may  cry  out,  with  Aristotle  iu 
his  24th  chapter,  that  no  part  of  this  divine  poem 
is  destitute  of  manners.  Indeed,  I  might  affirm 
that  there  is  scarce  a  character  in  human  nature 
untouched  in  some  part  or  other.  And,  as  there 
is  no  passion  which  he  is  not  able  to  describe,  so 
is  there  none  in  his  reader  which  he  cannot  raise. 
If  he  hath  any  superior  excellence  to  the  rest,  I 
have  been  inclined  to  fancy  it  is  in  the  pathetic. 
I  am  sure  I  never  read  with  dry  eyes  the  two 
episodes  where  Andromache  is  introduced  in  the 
former  lamenting  the  danger,  and  in  the  latter  the 
death,  of  Hector.  The  images  are  so  extremely 
tender  in  these,  that  I  am  convinced  the  poet  had 
the  worthiest  and  best  heart  imaginable.  Nor  can 
I  help  obser\dng  how  Sophocles  falls  short  of  the 
beauties  of  the  original,  in  that  imitation  of  the 
dissuasive  speech  of  Andromache  which  he  hath 
put  into  the  mouth  of  Tecmessa.  And  yet  Soph- 
ocles was  the  greatest  genius  who  ever  wrote 
tragedy;  nor  have  any  of  his  successors  in  that 
art,  that  is  to  say,  neither  Euripides  nor  Seneca 
the  tragedian,  been  able  to  come  near  him.  As  to 
his  sentiments  and  diction,  I  need  say  nothing ;  the 
former  are  particularly  remarkable  for  the  ut- 
most perfection  on  that  head,  namely,  propriety; 
and  as  to  the  latter,  Aristotle,  whom  doubtless 
you  have  read  over  and  over,  is  very  diffuse.  I 
shall  mention  but  one  thing  more,  which  that  great 
critic  in  his  division  of  tragedy  calls  Opsis,  or  the 
scenery;  and  which  is  as  proper  to  the  epic  as  to 
the  drama,  with  this  difference,  that  in  the  former 
it  falls  to  the  share  of  the  poet,  and  in  the  latter 


54  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  that  of  the  painter.  But  did  ever  painter 
imagine  a  scene  like  that  in  the  13th  and  14th 
IHads?  where  the  reader  sees  at  one  view  the  pros- 
pect of  Troy,  with  tlie  army  drawn  up  before  it; 
the  Grecian  army,  camp,  and  fleet ;  Jupiter  sitting 
on  Mount  Ida,  with  his  head  wrapped  in  a  cloud, 
and  a  thunderbolt  in  his  hand,  looking  towards 
Thrace;  Neptune  driving  through  the  sea,  which 
divides  on  each  side  to  permit  his  passage,  and 
then  seating  himself  on  Mount  Samos ;  the  heavens 
opened,  and  the  deities  all  seated  on  their  thrones. 
This  is  sublime!  This  is  poetry!"  Adams  then 
rapped  out  a  hundred  Greek  verses,  and  with  such 
a  voice,  emphasis,  and  action,  that  he  almost 
frightened  the  women;  and  as  for  the  gentleman, 
he  was  so  far  from  entertaining  any  further  sus- 
picion of  Adams,  that  he  now  doubted  whether  he 
had  not  a  bishop  in  his  house.  He  ran  into  the 
most  extravagant  encomiums  on  his  learning;  and 
the  goodness  of  his  heart  began  to  dilate  to  all  the 
strangers.  He  said  he  had  great  compassion  for 
the  poor  young  woman,  who  looked  pale  and  faint 
with  her  journey;  and  in  truth  he  conceived  a 
much  higher  opinion  of  her  quality  than  it  de- 
served. He  said  he  was  sorry  he  could  not  ac- 
commodate them  all;  but  if  they  were  contented 
with  his  fireside,  he  would  sit  up  with  the  men; 
and  the  young  woman  might,  if  she  pleased,  par- 
take his  wife's  bed,  which  he  advised  her  to;  for 
that  they  must  walk  upwards  of  a  mile  to  any 
house  of  entertainment,  and  that  not  very  good 
neither.  Adams,  who  liked  his  scat,  his  ale,  his 
tobacco,  and  his  company,  xDorsuaded  Fanny  to 
accept  this  kind  proposal,  in  which  solicitation  he 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  55 

was  seconded  by  Joseph.  Nor  was  she  very  diffi- 
cultly prevailed  on ;  for  she  had  slept  little  the  last 
night  and  not  at  all  the  preceding;  so  that  love 
itself  was  scarce  able  to  keep  her  eyes  open  any 
longer.  The  offer,  therefore,  being  kindly  ac- 
cepted, the  good  woman  produced  everything  eat- 
able in  her  house  on  the  table,  and  the  guests,  be- 
ing heartily  invited,  as  heartily  regaled  them- 
selves, especially  parson  Adams.  As  to  the  other 
two,  they  were  examples  of  the  truth  of  that 
physical  observation,  that  love,  like  other  sweet 
things,  is  no  whetter  of  the  stomach. 

Supper  was  no  sooner  ended,  than  Fanny  at  her 
own  request  retired,  and  the  good  woman  bore  her 
company.  The  man  of  the  house,  Adams,  and 
Joseph,  who  would  modestly  have  withdrawn,  had 
not  the  gentleman  insisted  on  the  contrary,  drew 
round  the  fireside,  where  Adams  (to  use  his  own 
words)  replenished  his  pipe,  and  the  gentleman 
produced  a  bottle  of  excellent  beer,  being  the  best 
liquor  in  his  house. 

The  modest  behavior  of  Joseph,  with  the  grace- 
fulness of  his  person,  the  character  which  Adams 
gave  of  him,  and  the  friendship  he  seemed  to  en- 
tertain for  him,  began  to  work  on  the  gentleman's 
affections,  and  raised  in  him  a  curiosity  to  know 
the  singularity  which  Adams  had  mentioned  in  his 
history.  This  curiosity  Adams  was  no  sooner  in- 
formed of  than,  with  Joseph's  consent,  he  agreed 
to  gratify  it ;  and  accordingly  related  all  he  knew, 
with  as  much  tenderness  as  was  possible  for  the 
character  of  Lady  Booby ;  and  concluded  with  the 
long,  faithful,  and  mutual  passion  between  him 
and  Fanny,  not  concealing  the  meanness  of  her 


56  THE  HISTORY  OF 

birth  and  education.  These  latter  circumstances 
entirely  cured  a  jealousy  which  had  lately  risen  in 
the  gentleman's  mind,  that  Fanny  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  some  person  of  fashion,  and  that  Joseph 
had  run  away  with  her,  and  Adams  was  concerned 
in  the  plot.  He  was  now  enamored  of  his  guests, 
drank  their  healths  with  great  cheerfulness,  and 
returned  many  thanks  to  Adams,  who  had  spent 
much  breath,  for  he  was  a  circumstantial  teller  of 
a  story. 

Adams  told  him  it  was  now  in  his  power  to  re- 
turn that  favor;  for  his  extraordinary  goodness, 
as  well  as  that  fund  of  literature  he  was  master 
of,^  which  he  did  not  expect  to  find  under  such  a 
roof,  had  raised  in  him  more  curiosity  than  he 
had  ever  known.  ''Therefore,"  said  he,  "if  it  be 
not  too  troublesome,  sir,  your  history,  if  you 
please." 

The  gentleman  answered,  he  could  not  refuse 
him  what  he  had  so  much  right  to  insist  on ;  and 
after  some  of  the  common  apologies,  which  are 
the  usual  preface  to  a  story,  he  thus  began. 

1  The  author  hath  by  some  been  represented  to  have  made  a 
blunder  here:  for  Adams  had  indeed  shown  some  learning  (say 
they),  perhaps  all  the  author  had;  but  the  gentleman  hath  shown 
none,  unless  his  approbation  of  Mr.  Adams  be  such :  but  surely 
it  would  be  preposterous  in  him  to  call  it  so.  I  have,  how- 
ever, notwithstanding  this  criticism,  which  I  am  told  came  from 
the  mouth  of  a  great  orator  in  a  public  coffee-house,  left  this 
blunder  as  it  stood  in  the  first  edition.  I  will  not  have  the 
vanity  to  apply  to  anything  in  this  work  the  observation  which 
M.  Dacier  makes  in  her  preface  to  her  Aristophanes:  Je  Hens 
pour  une  maxime  constante,  qu'une  beaut4  mediocre  plait  plus 
g^n&ralement  qu'une  'beauts  sans  d^faut.  Mr.  Congreve  hath 
made  such  another  blunder  in  his  Love  for  Love,  where  Tattle 
tells  Miss  Prue,  "  She  should  admire  him  as  much  for  the  beauty 
he  commends  in  her  as  if  he  himself  was  possessed  of  it," 


CHAPTER  III 

In  which  the  gentleman  relates  the  history  of  his  life. 

SIR,  I  am  descended  of  a  good  family,  and 
was  born  a  gentleman.  My  education  was 
liberal,  and  at  a  public  school,  in  which 
I  proceeded  so  far  as  to  become  master  of  the 
Latin,  and  to  be  tolerably  versed  in  the  Greek 
language.  My  father  died  when  I  was  sixteen, 
and  left  me  master  of  myself.  He  bequeathed  me 
a  moderate  fortune,  which  he  intended  I  should 
not  receive  till  I  attained  the  age  of  twenty-five : 
for  he  constantly  asserted  that  was  full  early 
enough  to  give  up  any  man  entirely  to  the 
guidance  of  his  own  discretion.  However,  as  this 
intention  was  so  obscurely  worded  in  his  will  that 
the  lawyers  advised  me  to  contest  the  point  with 
my  trustees,  I  own  I  paid  so  little  regard  to  the 
inclinations  of  my  dead  father,  which  were  suffi- 
ciently certain  to  me,  that  I  followed  their  advice, 
and  soon  succeeded,  for  the  trustees  did  not  con- 
test the  matter  very  obstinately  on  their  side. 
"Sir,"  said  Adams,  ''may  I  crave  the  favor  of 
your  name  ? ' '  The  gentleman  answered  his  name 
was  Wilson,  and  then  proceeded. 

I  stayed  a  very  little  while  at  school  after  his 
death;  for,  being  a  forward  youth,  I  was  ex- 
tremely impatient  to  be  in  the  world,  for  which  I 
thought  my  parts,  knowledge,  and  manhood  thor- 

57 


58  THE  HISTORY  OF 

oughly  qualified  me.  And  to  this  early  introduc- 
tion into  life,  without  a  guide,  I  impute  all  my 
future  misfortunes;  for,  besides  the  obvious  mis- 
chiefs which  attend  this,  there  is  one  which  hath 
not  been  so  generally  observed:  the  first  impres- 
sion which  mankind  receives  of  j^ou  will  be  very 
difficult  to  eradicate.  How  unhappy,  therefore, 
must  it  be  to  fix  your  character  in  life,  before 
you  can  possibly  know  its  value,  or  weigh  the  con- 
sequences of  those  actions  which  are  to  establish 
your  future  reputation! 

A  little  under  seventeen  I  left  my  school,  and 
went  to  London  with  no  more  than  six  pounds  in 
my  pocket ;  a  great  sum,  as  I  then  conceived ;  and 
which  I  was  afterwards  surprised  to  find  so  soon 
consumed. 

The  character  I  was  ambitious  of  attaining  was 
that  of  a  fine  gentleman;  the  first  requisites  to 
which  I  apprehended  were  to  be  supplied  by  a 
tailor,  a  periwig-maker,  and  some  few  more 
tradesmen,  who  deal  in  furnishing  out  the  human 
body.  Notwithstanding  the  lowness  of  my  purse, 
I  found  credit  with  them  more  easily  than  I  ex- 
pected, and  was  soon  equipped  to  my  wish.  This 
I  own  then  agreeably  surprised  me;  but  I  have 
since  learned  that  it  is  a  maxim  among  many 
tradesmen  at  the  polite  end  of  the  town  to  deal  as 
largely  as  they  can,  reckon  as  high  as  they  can, 
and  arrest  as  soon  as  they  can. 

The  next  qualifications,  namely,  dancing,  fenc- 
ing, riding  the  great  horse,  and  music,  came  into 
my  head :  but,  as  they  required  expense  and  time, 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  59 

I  comforted  myself,  with  regard  to  dancing,  that  I 
had  learned  a  little  in  my  youth,  and  could  walk 
a  minuet  genteelly  enough;  as  to  fencing,  I 
thought  my  good-humor  would  preserve  me  from 
the  danger  of  a  quarrel ;  as  to  the  horse,  I  hoped 
it  would  not  be  thought  of;  and  for  music,  I  im- 
agined I  could  easily  acquire  the  reputation  of  it ; 
for  I  had  heard  some  of  my  schoolfellows  pretend 
to  knowledge  in  operas,  without  being  able  to  sing 
or  play  on  the  fiddle. 

Knowledge  of  the  town  seemed  another  ingre 
dient;  this  I  thought  I  should  arrive  at  by  fre 
quenting  public  places.  Accordingly  I  paid  con- 
stant attendance  to'  them  all;  by  which  means  I 
was  soon  master  of  the  fashionable  phrases, 
learned  to  cry  up  the  fashionable  diversions,  and 
knew  the  names  and  faces  of  the  most  fashionable 
men  and  women. 

Nothing  now  seemed  to  remain  but  an  intrigue, 
which  I  was  resolved  to  have  immediately ;  I  mean 
the  reputation  of  it;  and  indeed  I  was  so  success- 
ful, that  in  a  very  short  time  I  had  half-a-dozen 
with  the  finest  women  in  town. 

At  these  words  Adams  fetched  a  deep  groan, 
and  then,  blessing  himself,  cried  out,  "Good  Lord  I 
what  wicked  times  these  are!" 

Not  so  wicked  as  you  imagine,  continued  the 
gentleman ;  for  I  assure  you  they  were  all  vestal 
virgins  for  anything  which  I  knew  to  the  contrary. 
The  reputation  of  intriguing  with  them  was  all  I 
sought,  and  was  what  I  arrived  at:  and  perhaps 
I  only  flattered  myself  even  in  that ;  for  very  prob- 


60  THE  HISTORY  OF 

ably  the  persons  to  whom  I  showed  their  billets 
knew  as  well  as  I  that  they  were  counterfeits,  and 
that  I  had  written  them  to  myself.  "Write  let- 
ters to  yourself!"  said  Adams,  staring.  0  sir, 
answered  the  gentleman,  it  is  the  very  error  of  the 
times.  Half  our  modern  plays  have  one  of  these 
characters  in  them.  It  is  incredible  the  pains  I 
have  taken,  and  the  absurd  methods  I  employed, 
to  traduce  the  character  of  women  of  distinction. 
When  another  had  spoken  in  raptures  of  any  one, 
I  have  answered, ' '  D — n  her,  she !  We  shall  have 
her  at  H d's  very  soon."  When  he  hath  re- 
plied, "He  thought  her  virtuous,"  I  have  an- 
swered, "Ay,  thou  wilt  always  think  a  woman 
virtuous,  till  she  is  in  the  streets;  but  you  and 
I,  Jack  or  Tom  (turning  to  another  in  company), 
know  better."  At  which  I  have  drawn  a  paper 
out  of  my  pocket,  perhaps  a  tailor's  bill,  and 
kissed  it,  crying  at  the  same  time,  "By  Gad  I  was 
once  fond  of  her." 

"Proceed,  if  you  please,  but  do  not  swear  any 
more,"  said  Adams. 

Sir,  said  the  gentleman,  I  ask  your  pardon. 
Well,  sir,  in  this  course  of  life  I  continued  full 
three  years. — "What  course  of  life!"  answered 
Adams ;  "I  do  not  remember  you  have  mentioned 
any." — Your  remark  is  just,  said  the  gentleman, 
smiling;  I  should  rather  have  said,  in  this  course 
of  doing  nothing.  I  remember  some  time  after- 
wards I  wrote  the  journal  of  one  day,  which  would 
serve,  I  believe,  as  well  for  any  other  during  the 
whole  time.    I  will  endeavor  to  repeat  it  to  you. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  61 

In  the  morning  I  arose,  took  my  great  stick, 
and  walked  out  in  my  green  frock,  with  my  hair 
in  papers  (a  groan  from  Adams),  and  sauntered 
about  till  ten.    Went  to  the  auction;  told  lady 

she  had  a  dirty  face ;  laughed  heartily  at 

something  captain  said,  I  can't  remember 

what,  for  I  did  not  very  well  hear  it;  whispered 

lord ;  bowed  to  the  duke  of ;  and  was 

going  to  bid  for  a  snujff-box,  but  did  not,  for  fear 
I  should  have  had  it. 

From  2  to     4,  dressed  myself.        A  groan. 
4  to     6,  dined.  A  groan. 

6  to    8,  coffee-house. 

8  to    9,  Di-ury-lane  playhouse. 

9  to  10,  Lincobi's  Inn  Fields. 

10  to  12,  Drawing-room.        A  great  groan. 

At  all  which  places  nothing  happened  worth  re- 
mark. 

At  which  Adams  said,  with  some  vehemence, 
^'Sir,  this  is  below  the  life  of  an  animal,  hardly 
above  vegetation :  and  I  am  surprised  what  could 
lead  a  man  of  your  sense  into  it."  What  leads 
us  into  more  follies  than  you  imagine,  doctor,  an- 
swered the  gentleman — vanity;  for  as  contempti- 
ble a  creature  as  I  was,  and  I  assure  you,  yourself 
cannot  have  more  contempt  for  such  a  wretch 
than  I  now  have,  I  then  admired  myself,  and 
should  have  despised  a  person  of  your  present  ap- 
pearance (you  will  pardon  me),  with  all  your 
learning  and  those  excellent  qualities  which  I  have 
remarked  in  you.    Adams  bowed,  and  begged  him 


62  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  proceed.  After  I  had  continued  two  years  in 
this  course  of  life,  said  the  gentleman,  an  acci- 
dent happened  which  obliged  me  to  change  the 
scene.  As  I  was  one  day  at  St.  James's  coffee- 
house, making  very  free  with  the  character  of  a 
young  lady  of  quality,  an  officer  of  the  guards, 
who  was  present,  thought  proper  to  give  me  the 
lie.  I  answered  I  might  possibly  be  mistaken,  but 
I  intended  to  tell  no  more  than  the  truth.  To 
which  he  made  no  reply  but  by  a  scornful  sneer. 
After  this  I  observed  a  strange  coldness  in  all  my 
acquaintance ;  none  of  them  spoke  to  me  first,  and 
very  few  returned  me  even  the  civility  of  a  bow. 
The  company  I  used  to  dine  with  left  me  out,  and 
within  a  week  I  found  myself  in  as  much  solitude 
at  St.  James's  as  if  I  had  been  in  a  desert.  An 
honest  elderly  man,  with  a  great  hat  and  long 
sword,  at  last  told  me  he  had  a  compassion  for 
my  youth,  and  therefore  advised  me  to  show  the 
world  I  was  not  such  a  rascal  as  they  thought  me 
to  be.  I  did  not  at  first  understand  him;  but  he 
explained  himself,  and  ended  with  telling  me,  if 
I  would  write  a  challenge  to  the  captain,  he  would, 
out  of  pure  charity,  go  to  him  with  it.  "A  very 
charitable  person,  truly!"  cried  Adams.  I  de- 
sired till  the  next  day,  continued  the  gentleman, 
to  consider  on  it,  and,  retiring  to  my  lodgings,  I 
weighed  the  consequences  on  both  sides  as  fairly 
as  I  could.  On  the  one,  I  saw  the  risk  of  this 
alternative,  either  losing  my  own  life,  or  having 
on  my  hands  the  blood  of  a  man  with  whom  I 
was  not  in  the  least  angry.    I  soon  determined 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  63 

that  the  good  which  appeared  on  the  other  was 
not  worth  this  hazard.  I  therefore  resolved  to 
quit  the  scene,  and  presently  retired  to  the  Tem- 
ple, where  I  took  chambers.  Here  I  soon  got  a 
fresh  set  of  acquaintance,  who  knew  nothing  of 
what  had  happened  to  me.  Indeed,  they  were 
not  greatly  to  my  approbation;  for  the  beaux  of 
the  Temple  are  only  the  shadows  of  the  others. 
They  are  the  affectation  of  aif ectation.  The  van- 
ity of  these  is  still  more  ridiculous,  if  possible, 
than  of  the  others.  Here  I  met  with  smart  fel- 
lows who  drank  with  lords  they  did  not  know, 
and  intrigued  with  women  they  never  saw. 
Covent  Garden  was  now  the  farthest  stretch  of 
my  ambition ;  where  I  shone  forth  in  the  balconies 
at  the  playhouses,  visited  whores,  made  love  to 
orange-wenches,  and  damned  plays.  This  career 
was  soon  put  a  stop  to  by  my  surgeon,  who  con- 
vinced me  of  the  necessity  of  confining  myself  to 
my  room  for  a  month.  At  the  end  of  which,  hav- 
ing had  leisure  to  reflect,  I  resolved  to  quit  all 
further  conversation  with  beaux  and  smarts  of 
every  kind,  and  to  avoid,  if  possible,  any  occasion 
of  returning  to  this  place  of  confinement.  "I 
think,"  said  Adams,  ^'the  advice  of  a  month's 
retirement  and  reflection  was  very  proper;  but 
I  should  rather  have  expected  it  from  a  divine 
than  a  surgeon."  The  gentleman  smiled  at 
Adams's  simplicity,  and,  without  explaining  him- 
self farther  on  such  an  odious  subject,  went  on 
thus:  I  was  no  sooner  perfectly  restored  to 
health  than  I  found  my  passion  for  women,  which 


64  THE  HISTORY  OF 

I  was  afraid  to  satisfy  as  I  had  done,  made  me 
very  uneasy;  I  determined,  therefore,  to  keep  a 
mistress.  Nor  was  I  long  before  I  fixed  my 
choice  on  a  young  woman,  who  had  before  been 
kept  by  two  gentlemen,  and  to  whom  I  was  recom- 
mended by  a  celebrated  bawd.  I  took  her  home 
to  my  chambers,  and  made  her  a  settlement  dur- 
ing cohabitation.  This  would,  perhaps,  have  been 
very  ill  paid:  however,  she  did  not  suffer  me  to 
be  perplexed  on  that  account ;  for,  before  quarter- 
day,  I  found  her  at  my  chambers  in  too  familiar 
conversation  with  a  young  fellow  who  was  dressed 
like  an  officer,  but  was  indeed  a  city  apprentice. 
Instead  of  excusing  her  inconstancy,  she  rapped 
out  half-a-dozen  oaths,  and,  snapping  her  fingers 
at  me,  swore  she  scorned  to  confine  herself  to  the 
best  man  in  England.  Upon  this  we  parted,  and 
the  same  bawd  presently  provided  her  another 
keeper.  I  was  not  so  much  concerned  at  our  sep- 
aration as  I  found,  within  a  day  or  two,  I  had 
reason  to  be  for  our  meeting;  for  I  was  obliged 
to  pay  a  second  visit  to  my  surgeon.  I  was  now 
forced  to  do  penance  for  some  weeks,  during 
which  time  I  contracted  an  acquaintance  with  a 
beautiful  young  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  gentle- 
man who,  after  having  been  forty  years  in  the 
army,  and  in  all  the  campaigns  under  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough,  died  a  lieutenant  on  half-pay,  and 
had  left  a  widow,  with  this  only  child,  in  very 
distressed  circumstances:  they  had  only  a  small 
pension  from  the  government,  with  what  little  the 
daughter  could  add  to  it  by  her  work,  for  she  had 
great  excellence  at  her  needle.     This  girl  was,  at 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  65 

my  first  acquaintance  with  her,  solicited  in  mar- 
riage by  a  young  fellow  in  good  circumstances. 
He  was  apprentice  to  a  linendraper,  and  had  a 
little  fortune,  sufficient  to  set  up  his  trade.  The 
mother  was  greatly  pleased  with  this  match,  as 
indeed  she  had  sufficient  reason.  However,  I 
soon  prevented  it.  I  represented  him  in  so  low 
a  light  to  his  mistress,  and  made  so  good  an  use 
of  flattery,  promises,  and  presents,  that,  not  to 
dwell  longer  on  this  subject  than  is  necessary,  I 
prevailed  with  the  poor  girl,  and  conveyed  her 
away  from  her  mother!  In  a  word,  I  debauched 
her. — (At  which  words  Adams  started  up,  fetched 
three  strides  across  the  room,  and  then  replaced 
himself  in  his  chair.)  You  are  not  more  affected 
with  this  part  of  my  story  than  myself;  I  assure 
you  it  will  never  be  sufficiently  repented  of  in  my 
own  opinion:  but,  if  you  already  detest  it,  how 
much  more  will  your  indignation  be  raised  when 
you  hear  the  fatal  consequences  of  this  barbarous, 
this  villainous  action!  If  you  please,  therefore, 
I  will  here  desist. — *'By  no  means,"  cries  Adams; 
"go  on,  I  beseech  you;  and  Heaven  grant  you 
may  sincerely  repent  of  this  and  many  other 
things  you  have  related!" — I  was  now,  continued 
the  gentleman,  as  happy  as  the  possession  of  a 
fine  young  creature,  who  had  a  good  education, 
and  was  endued  with  many  agreeable  qualities, 
could  make  me.  We  lived  some  months  with  vast 
fondness  together,  without  any  company  or  con- 
versation, more  than  we  found  in  one  another :  but 
this  could  not  continue  always ;  and,  though  I  still 

II— 5 


66  THE  HISTORY  OF 

preserved  great  affection  for  her,  I  began  more 
and  more  to  want  the  relief  of  other  company, 
and  consequently  to  leave  her  by  degrees — at  last 
whole  days  to  herself.  She  failed  not  to  testify 
some  uneasiness  on  these  occasions,  and  com- 
plained of  the  melancholy  life  she  led;  to  remedy 
which,  I  introduced  her  into  the  acquaintance  of 
some  other  kept  mistresses,  with  whom  she  used 
to  play  at  cards,  and  frequent  plays  and  other 
diversions.  She  had  not  lived  long  in  this  inti- 
macy before  I  perceived  a  visible  alteration  in 
her  behavior ;  all  her  modesty  and  innocence  van- 
ished by  degrees,  till  her  mind  became  thoroughly 
tainted.  She  affected  the  company  of  rakes,  gave 
herself  all  manner  of  airs,  was  never  easy  but 
abroad,  or  when  she  had  a  jDarty  at  my  chambers. 
She  was  rapacious  of  money,  extravagant  to  ex- 
cess, loose  in  her  conversation;  and,  if  ever  I  de- 
murred to  any  of  her  demands,  oaths,  tears,  and 
fits  were  the  immediate  consequences.  As  the 
first  raptures  of  fondness  were  long  since  over, 
this  behavior  soon  estranged  my  affections  from 
her ;  I  began  to  reflect  with  pleasure  that  she  was 
not  my  wife,  and  to  conceive  an  intention  of  part- 
ing with  her ;  of  which,  having  given  her  a  hint, 
she  took  care  to  prevent  me  the  pains  of  turning 
her  out  of  doors,  and  accordingly  departed  her- 
self, having  first  broken  open  my  escritoire,  and 
taken  with  her  all  she  could  find,  to  the  amount 
of  about  £200.  In  the  first  heat  of  my  resentment 
I  resolved  to  pursue  her  with  all  the  vengeance  of 
the  law:  but,  as  she  had  the  good  luck  to  escape 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  67 

me  during  that  ferment,  my  passion  afterwards 
cooled ;  and,  having  reflected  that  I  had  been  the 
first  aggressor,  and  had  done  her  an  injury  for 
which  I  could  make  her  no  reparation,  by  robbing 
her  of  the  innocence  of  her  mind ;  and  hearing  at 
the  same  time  that  the  poor  old  woman  her  mother 
had  broke  her  heart  on  her  daughter's  elopement 
from  her,  I,  concluding  myself  her  murderer  ("As 
you  very  well  might,"  cries  Adams,  with  a  groan), 
was  pleased  that  God  Almighty  had  taken  this 
method  of  punishing  me,  and  resolved  quietly  to 
submit  to  the  loss.  Indeed,  I  could  wish  I  had 
never  heard  more  of  the  poor  creature,  who  be- 
came in  the  end  an  abandoned  profligate;  and, 
after  being  some  years  a  common  prostitute,  at 
last  ended  her  miserable  life  in  Newgate. — Here 
the  gentleman  fetched  a  deep  sigh,  which  Mr. 
Adams  echoed  very  loudly;  and  both  continued 
silent,  looking  on  each  other  for  some  minutes. 
At  last  the  gentleman  proceeded  thus:  I  had 
been  perfectly  constant  to  this  girl  during  the 
whole  time  I  kept  her :  but  she  had  scarce  departed 
before  I  discovered  more  marks  of  her  infidelity 
to  me  than  the  loss  of  my  money.  In  short,  I  was 
forced  to  make  a  third  visit  to  my  surgeon,  out  of 
whose  hands  I  did  not  get  a  hasty  discharge. 

I  now  forswore  all  future  dealings  with  the  sex, 
complained  loudly  that  the  pleasure  did  not  com- 
pensate the  pain,  and  railed  at  the  beautiful  crea- 
tures in  as  gross  language  as  Juvenal  himself 
formerly  reviled  them  in.  I  looked  on  all  the 
town  harlots  with  a  detestation  not  easy  to  be 


68  THE  HISTORY  OF 

conceived,  their  persons  appeared  to  me  as 
painted  palaces,  inhabited  by  Disease  and  Death: 
nor  could  their  beauty  make  them  more  desirable 
objects  in  my  eyes  than  gilding  could  make  me 
covet  a  pill,  or  golden  plates  a  coffin.  But  though 
I  was  no  longer  the  absolute  slave,  I  found  some 
reasons  to  own  myself  still  the  subject,  of  love. 
My  hatred  for  women  decreased  daily;  and  I  am 
not  positive  but  time  might  have  betrayed  me 
again  to  some  common  harlot,  had  I  not  been  se- 
cured by  a  passion  for  the  charming  Sapphira, 
which,  having  once  entered  upon,  made  a  violent 
progress  in  my  heart.  Sapphira  was  wife  to  a 
man  of  fashion  and  gallantry,  and  one  who 
seemed,  I  own,  every  way  worthy  of  her  affec- 
tions ;  which,  however,  he  had  not  the  reputation 
of  having.  She  was  indeed  a  coquette  achevee. 
*'Pray,  sir,"  says  Adams,  **what  is  a  coquette? 
I  have  met  with  the  word  in  French  authors,  but 
never  could  assign  any  idea  to  it.  I  believe  it  is 
the  same  with  une  sotte,  Anglice,  a  fool."  Sir,  an- 
swered the  gentleman,  perhaps  you  are  not  much 
mistaken;  but,  as  it  is  a  particular  kind  of  folly, 
I  will  endeavor  to  describe  it.  Were  all  creatures 
to  be  ranked  in  the  order  of  creation  according 
to  their  usefulness,  I  know  few  animals  that  would 
not  take  place  of  a  coquette ;  nor  indeed  hath  this 
creature  much  pretense  to  anything  beyond  in- 
stinct; for,  though  sometimes  we  might  imagine 
it  was  animated  by  the  passion  of  vanity,  yet  far 
the  greater  part  of  its  actions  fall  beneath  even 
that   low   motive;   for   instance,    several   absurd 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  69 

gestures  and  tricks,  infinitely  more  foolish  than 
what  can  be  observed  in  the  most  ridiculous  birds 
and  beasts,  and  which  would  persuade  the  be- 
holder that  the  silly  wretch  was  aiming  at  our 
contempt.  Indeed  its  characteristic  is  affecta- 
tion, and  this  led  and  governed  by  whim  only,  for 
as  beauty,  wisdom,  wit,  good-nature,  politeness, 
and  health  are  sometimes  affected  by  this  crea- 
ture, so  are  ugliness,  folly,  nonsense,  ill-nature, 
ill-breeding,  and  sickness  likewise  put  on  by  it  in 
their  turn.  Its  life  is  one  constant  lie;  and  the 
only  rule  by  which  you  can  form  any  judgment 
of  them  is,  that  they  are  never  what  they  seem. 
If  it  was  possible  for  a  coquette  to  love  (as  it  is 
not,  for  if  ever  it  attains  this  passion  the  coquette 
ceases  instantly),  it  would  wear  the  face  of  in- 
difference, if  not  of  hatred,  to  the  beloved  object ; 
you  may  therefore  be  assured,  when  they  en- 
deavor to  persuade  you  of  their  liking,  that  they 
are  indifferent  to  you  at  least.  And  indeed  this 
was  the  case  of  my  Sapphira,  who  no  sooner  saw 
me  in  the  number  of  her  admirers  than  she  gave 
me  what  is  commonly  called  encouragement:  she 
would  often  look  at  me,  and,  when  she  perceived 
me  meet  her  eyes,  would  instantly  take  them  off, 
discovering  at  the  same  time  as  much  surprise 
and  emotion  as  possible.  These  arts  failed  not  of 
the  success  she  intended ;  and,  as  I  grew  more  par- 
ticular to  her  than  the  rest  of  her  admirers,  she 
advanced,  in  proportion,  more  directly  to  me  than 
to  the  others.  She  affected  the  low  voice,  whis- 
per, lisp,  sigh,  start,  laugh,  and  many  other  indi- 


70  THE  HISTORY  OF 

cations  of  passion  which  daily  deceive  thousands. 
When  I  played  at  whist  with  her,  she  would  look 
earnestly  at  me,  and  at  the  same  time  lose  deal  or 
revoke;  then  burst  into  a  ridiculous  laugh  and  cry, 
"hal  I  can't  imagine  what  I  was  thinking  of." 
To  detain  you  no  longer,  after  I  had  gone  through 
a  sufficient  course  of  gallantry,  as  I  thought,  and 
was  thoroughly  convinced  I  had  raised  a  violent 
passion  in  my  mistress,  I  sought  an  opportunity 
of  coming  to  an  eclaircissement  with  her.  She 
avoided  this  as  much  as  possible ;  however,  great 
assiduity  at  length  presented  me  one.  I  will  not 
describe  all  the  particulars  of  this  interview;  let 
it  suffice  that,  when  she  could  no  longer  pretend 
not  to  see  my  drift,  she  first  aifected  a  violent  sur- 
prise, and  immediately  after  as  violent  a  passion : 
she  wondered  what  I  had  seen  in  her  conduct 
which  could  induce  me  to  affront  her  in  this  man- 
ner ;  and,  breaking  from  me  the  first  moment  she 
could,  told  me  I  had  no  other  way  to  escape  the 
consequence  of  her  resentment  than  by  never  see- 
ing, or  at  least  speaking  to  her  more.  I  was  not 
contented  with  this  answer;  I  still  pursued  her, 
but  to  no  purpose;  and  was  at  length  convinced 
that  her  husband  had  the  sole  possession  of  her 
person,  and  that  neither  he  nor  any  other  had 
made  any  impression  on  her  heart.  I  was  taken 
off  from  following  this  ignis  fatims  by  some  ad- 
vances which  were  made  me  by  tl;e  wife  of  a  citi- 
zen, who,  though  neither  very  young  nor  hand- 
some, was  yet  too  agreeable  to  be  rejected  by 
my  amorous  constitution.    I  ace  ^rdingly  soon  sat- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  71 

isfied  her  that  she  had  not  cast  away  her  hints  on 
a  barren  or  cold  soil:  on  the  contrary,  they  in- 
stantly produced  her  an  eager  and  desiring  lover. 
Nor  did  she  give  me  any  reason  to  complain ;  she 
met  the  warmth  she  had  raised  with  equal  ardor. 
I  had  no  longer  a  coquette  to  deal  with,  but  one 
who  was  wiser  than  to  prostitute  the  noble  passion 
of  love  to  the  ridiculous  lust  of  vanity.  We  pres- 
ently understood  one  another ;  and,  as  the  pleas- 
ures we  sought  lay  in  a  mutual  gratification,  we 
soon  found  and  enjoyed  them.  I  thought  myself 
at  first  gi^eatly  happy  in  the  possession  of  this 
new  mistress,  whose  fondness  would  have  quickly 
surfeited  a  more  sickly  appetite ;  but  it  had  a  dif- 
ferent effect  on  mine:  she  carried  my  passion 
higher  by  it  than  youth  or  beauty  had  been  able. 
But  my  happiness  could  not  long  continue  unin- 
terrupted. The  apprehensions  we  lay  under  from 
the  jealousy  of  her  husband  gave  us  great  uneasi- 
ness. ''Poor  wretch!  I  pity  him,"  cried  Adams. 
He  did  indeed  deserve  it,  said  the  gentleman ;  for 
he  loved  his  wife  with  great  tenderness ;  and,  I  as- 
sure you,  it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  that  I 
was  not  the  man  who  first  seduced  her  affections 
from  him.  These  apprehensions  appeared  also 
too  well  grounded,  for  in  the  end  he  discovered 
us,  and  procured  witnesses  of  our  caresses.  He 
then  prosecuted  me  at  law,  and  recovered  £3000 
damages,  which  much  distressed  my  fortune  to 
pay;  and,  what  was  worse,  his  wife,  being  di- 
vorced, came  upon  my  hands.  I  led  a  very  uneasy 
life  with  her;  for,  besides  that  my  passion  was 


72  THE  HISTORY  OF 

now  much  abated,  her  excessive  jealousy  was  very 
troublesome.  At  length  death  rid  me  of  an  in- 
convenience which  the  consideration  of  my  hav- 
ing been  the  author  of  her  misfortunes  would 
never  suffer  me  to  take  any  other  method  of  dis- 
carding. 

I  now  bade  adieu  to  love,  and  resolved  to  pur- 
sue other  less  dangerous  and  expensive  pleasures. 
I  fell  into  the  acquaintance  of  a  set  of  jolly  com- 
panions who  slept  all  day  and  drank  all  night; 
fellows  who  might  rather  be  said  to  consume  time 
than  to  live.     Their  best  conversation  was  noth- 
ing  but    noise:    singing,    hollowing,    wrangling, 
drinking,  toasting,  sp — wing,  smoking  were  the 
chief  ingredients  of  our  entertainment.     And  yet, 
bad  as  these  were,  they  were  more  tolerable  than 
our  graver  scenes,  which  were  either  excessive 
tedious  narratives  of  dull  common  matters  of  fact, 
or  hot  disputes  about  trifling  matters,  which  com- 
monly ended  in  a  wager.     This  way  of  life  the 
first  serious  reflection  put  a  period  to ;  and  I  be- 
came member  of  a  club  frequented  by  young  men 
of  great  abilities.     The  bottle  was  now  only  called 
in  to  the  assistance  of  our  conversation,  which 
rolled  on  the  deepest  points  of  philosophy.    These 
gentlemen  were  engaged  in  a  search  after  truth, 
in  the  pursuit  of  which  they  threw  aside  all  the 
prejudices  of  education,  and  governed  themselves 
only  by  the  infallible  guide  of  human  reason.    This 
great  guide,  after  having  shown  them  the  false- 
hood of  that  very  ancient  but  simple  tenet,  that 
there  is  such  a  being  as  a  Deity  in  the  universe. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  7^ 

helped  them  to  establish  in  his  stead  a  certain 
rule  of  right,  by  adhering  to  which  they  all  ar- 
rived at  the  utmost  purity  of  morals.  Reflection 
made  me  as  much  delighted  with  this  society  as  it 
had  taught  me  to  despise  and  detest  the  former. 
I  began  now  to  esteem  myself  a  being  of  a  higher 
order  than  I  had  ever  before  conceived ;  and  was 
the  more  charmed  with  this  rule  of  right,  as  I 
really  found  in  my  own  nature  nothing  repugnant 
to  it.  I  held  in  utter  contempt  all  persons  who 
wanted  any  other  inducement  to  virtue  besides 
her  intrinsic  beauty  and  excellence;  and  had  so 
high  an  opinion  of  my  present  companions,  with 
regard  to  their  morality,  that  I  would  have  trusted 
them  with  whatever  was  nearest  and  dearest  to 
me.  Whilst  I  was  engaged  in  this  delightful 
dream,  two  or  three  accidents  happened  succes- 
sively, which  at  first  much  surprised  me ; — for  one 
of  our  greatest  philosophers,  or  rule-of-right  men, 
withdrew  himself  from  us,  taking  with  him  the 
wife  of  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends.  Second- 
ly, another  of  the  same  society  left  the  club  with- 
out remembering  to  take  leave  of  his  bail.  A 
third,  having  borrowed  a  sum  of  money  of  me, 
for  which  I  received  no  security,  when  I  asked 
him  to  repay  it,  absolutely  denied  the  loan.  These 
several  practices,  so  inconsistent  with  our  golden 
rule,  made  me  begin  to  suspect  its  infallibility; 
but  when  I  communicated  my  thoughts  to  one  of 
the  club,  he  said,  "There  was  nothing  absolutely 
good  or  evil  in  itself;  that  actions  were  denom- 
inated good  or  bad  by  the  circumstances  of  the 


74  THE  HISTORY  OF 

agent.  That  possibly  the  man  who  ran  away  with 
his  neighbor's  wife  might  be  one  of  very  good 
inclinations,  but  over-prevailed  on  by  the  violence 
of  an  unruly  passion;  and,  in  other  particulars, 
might  be  a  very  worthy  member  of  society;  that 
if  the  beauty  of  any  woman  created  in  him  an  un- 
easiness, he  had  a  right  from  nature  to  relieve 
himself;" — ^with  many  other  things,  which  I  then 
detested  so  much,  that  I  took  leave  of  the  society 
that  very  evening  and  never  returned  to  it  again. 
Being  now  reduced  to  a  state  of  solitude  which 
I  did  not  like,  I  became  a  great  frequenter  of  the 
playhouses,  which  indeed  was  always  my  favorite 
diversion;  and  most  evenings  passed  away  two 
or  three  hours  behind  the  scenes,  where  I  met  with 
several  poets,  with  whom  I  made  engagements  at 
the  taverns.  Some  of  the  players  were  likewise 
of  our  parties.  At  these  meetings  we  were  gen- 
erally entertained  by  the  poets  with  reading  their 
performances,  and  by  the  players  with  repeating 
their  parts :  upon  which  occasions,  I  observed  the 
gentleman  who  furnished  our  entertainment  was 
commonly  the  best  pleased  of  the  company;  who, 
though  they  were  pretty  civil  to  him  to  his  face, 
seldom  failed  to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  his 
absence  to  ridicule  him.  Now  I  made  some  re- 
marks which  probably  are  too  obvious  to  be  worth 
relating.  "Sir,"  says  Adams,  ''your  remarks 
if  you  please."  First  then,  says  he,  I  concluded 
that  the  general  observation,  that  wits  are  most 
inclined  to  vanity,  is  not  true.  Men  are  equally 
vain  of  riches,  strength,  beauty,  honors,  &c.  But 
these  appear  of  themselves  to  the  eyes  of  the  be- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  75 

holders,  whereas  the  poor  wit  is  obliged  to  pro- 
duce his  performance  to  show  you  his  perfection ; 
and  on  his  readiness  to  do  this  that  vulgar  opin- 
ion I  have  before  mentioned  is  grounded ;  but  doth 
not  the  person  who  expends  vast  sums  in  the  fur- 
niture of  his  house  or  the  ornaments  of  his  per- 
son, who  consumes  much  time  and  employs  great 
pains  in  dressing  himself,  or  who  thinks  himself 
paid  for  self-denial,  labor,  or  even  villainy,  by  a 
title  or  a  ribbon,  sacrifice  as  much  to  vanity  as 
the  poor  wit  who  is  desirous  to  read  you  his  poem 
or  his  play?  My  second  remark  was,  that  vanity 
is  the  worst  of  passions,  and  more  apt  to  con- 
taminate the  mind  than  any  other :  for,  as  selfish- 
ness is  much  more  general  than  we  please  to  al- 
low it,  so  it  is  natural  to  hate  and  envy  those  who 
stand  between  us  and  the  good  we  desire.  Now, 
in  lust  and  ambition  these  are  few;  and  even  in 
avarice  we  find  many  who  are  no  obstacles  to  our 
pursuits;  but  the  vain  man  seeks  pre-eminence; 
and  everything  which  is  excellent  or  praiseworthy 
in  another  renders  him  the  mark  of  his  antipathy. 
Adams  now  began  to  fumble  in  his  pockets,  and 
soon  cried  out,  ''0  la!  I  have  it  not  about  me." 
Upon  this,  the  gentleman  asking  him  what  he  was 
searching  for,  he  said  he  searched  after  a  sermon, 
which  he  thought  his  masterpiece,  against  vanity. 
''Fie  upon  it,  fie  upon  it!"  cries  he,  ''why  do  I 
ever  leave  that  sermon  out  of  my  pocket!  I  wish 
it  was  within  five  miles;  I  would  willingly  fetch 
it,  to  read  it  you."  The  gentleman  answered  that 
there  was  no  need,  for  he  was  cured  of  the  pas- 
sion.    ' '  And  for  that  very  reason, ' '  quoth  Adams, 


76  THE  HISTORY  OF 

"I  would  read  it,  for  I  am  confident  you  would 
admire  it:  indeed,  I  have  never  been  a  greater 
enemy  to  any  passion  than  that  silly  one  of  van- 
ity." The  gentleman  smiled,  and  proceeded — 
From  this  society  I  easily  passed  to  that  of  the 
gamesters,  where  nothing  remarkable  happened 
but  the  finishing  my  fortune,  which  those  gentle- 
men soon  helped  me  to  the  end  of.  This  opened 
scenes  of  life  hitherto  unknown ;  poverty  and  dis- 
tress, with  their  horrid  train  of  duns,  attorneys, 
bailiffs,  haunted  me  day  and  night.  My  clothes 
grew  shabby,  my  credit  bad,  my  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance of  all  kinds  cold.  In  this  situation  the 
strangest  thought  imaginable  came  into  my  head ; 
and  what  was  this  but  to  write  a  play?  for  I  had 
sufficient  leisure :  fear  of  bailiffs  confined  me  every 
day  to  my  room:  and,  having  always  had  a  little 
inclination  and  something  of  a  genius  that  way, 
I  set  myself  to  work,  and  within  a  few  months 
produced  a  piece  of  five  acts,  which  was  accepted 
of  at  the  theater.  I  remembered  to  have  formerly 
taken  tickets  of  other  poets  for  their  benefits,  long 
before  the  appearance  of  their  performances ;  and, 
resolving  to  follow  a  precedent  which  was  so  well 
suited  to  my  present  circumstances,  I  immedi- 
ately provided  myself  with  a  large  number  of  lit- 
tle papers.  Happy  indeed  would  be  the  state  of 
poetry,  would  these  tickets  pass  current  at  the 
bakehouse,  the  ale-house,  and  the  chandler's  shop: 
but  alas!  far  otherwise;  no  tailor  will  take  them 
in  payment  for  buckram,  canvas,  stay-tape;  nor 
no  bailiff  for  civility  money.  They  are,  indeed, 
no  more  than  a  passport  to  beg  with ;  a  certificate 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  77 

that  the  owner  wants  five  shillings,  which  induces 
well-disposed  Christians  to  charity.  I  now  ex- 
perienced what  is  worse  than  poverty,  or  rather 
what  is  the  worst  consequence  of  poverty — I  mean 
attendance  and  dependance  on  the  great.  Many 
a  morning  have  I  waited  hours  in  the  cold  parlors 
of  men  of  quality ;  where,  after  seeing  the  lowest 
rascals  in  lace  and  embroidery,  the  pimps  and 
buffoons  in  fashion,  admitted,  I  have  been  some- 
times told,  on  sending  in  my  name,  that  my  lord 
could  not  possibly  see  me  this  morning;  a  suffi- 
cient assurance  that  I  should  never  more  get 
entrance  into  that  house.  Sometimes  I  have  been 
at  last  admitted;  and  the  great  man  hath  thought 
proper  to  excuse  himself,  by  telling  me  he  was  tied 
up.  "Tied  up,"  says  Adams,  ''pray  what's 
that  ? ' '  Sir,  says  the  gentleman,  the  profit  which 
booksellers  allowed  authors  for  the  best  works 
was  so  very  small,  that  certain  men  of  birth  and 
fortune  some  years  ago,  who  were  the  patrons 
of  wit  and  learning,  thought  fit  to  encourage  them 
farther  by  entering  into  voluntary  subscriptions 
for  their  encouragement.  Thus  Prior,  Rowe, 
Pope,  and  some  other  men  of  genius,  received 
large  sums  for  their  labors  from  the  public.  This 
seemed  so  easy  a  method  of  getting  money,  that 
many  of  the  lowest  scribblers  of  the  times  ven- 
tured to  publish  their  works  in  the  same  way; 
and  many  had  the  assurance  to  take  in  subscrip- 
tions for  what  was  not  writ,  nor  ever  intended. 
Subscriptions  in  this  manner  growing  infinite,  and 
a  kind  of  tax  on  the  public,  some  persons,  finding 
it  not  so  easy  a  task  to  discern  good  from  bad 


78  THE  HISTORY  OF 

autliors,  or  to  know  what  genius  was  worthy  en- 
couragement and  what  was  not,  to  prevent  the  ex- 
pense of  subscribing  to  so  many,  invented  a 
method  to  excuse  themselves  from  all  subscrip- 
tions whatever;  and  this  was  to  receive  a  small 
sum  of  money  in  consideration  of  giving  a  large 
one  if  ever  they  subscribed;  which  many  have 
done,  and  many  more  have  pretended  to  have 
done,  in  order  to  silence  all  solicitation.  The 
same  method  was  likewise  taken  with  playhouse 
tickets,  which  were  no  less  a  public  grievance; 
and  this  is  what  they  call  being  tied  up  from  sub- 
scribing. ' '  I  can 't  say  but  the  term  is  apt  enough, 
and  somewhat  typical,"  said  Adams;  ''for  a  man 
of  large  fortune,  who  ties  himself  up,  as  you  call 
it,  from  the  encouragement  of  men  of  merit,  ought 
to  be  tied  up  in  reality."  Well,  sir,  says  the  gen- 
tleman, to  return  to  my  story.  Sometimes  I  have 
received  a  guinea  from  a  man  of  quality,  given 
with  as  ill  a  grace  as  alms  are  generally  to  the 
meanest  beggar ;  and  purchased  too  with  as  much 
time  spent  in  attendance  as,  if  it  had  been  spent 
in  honest  industry,  might  have  brought  me  more 
profit  with  infinitely  more  satisfaction.  After 
about  two  months  spent  in  this  disagreeable  way, 
with  the  utmost  mortification,  when  I  was  plum- 
ing my  hopes  on  the  prospect  of  a  plentiful  har- 
vest from  my  play,  upon  applying  to  the  prompter 
to  know  when  it  came  into  rehearsal,  he  informed 
me  he  had  received  orders  from  the  managers  to 
return  me  the  play  again,  for  that  they  could  not 
possibly  act  it  that  season ;  but,  if  I  would  take  it 
and  revise  it  against  the  next,  they  would  be  glad 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  79 

to  see  it  again.  I  snatched  it  from  him  with 
great  indignation,  and  retired  to  my  room,  where 
I  threw  myself  on  the  bed  in  a  fit  of  despair. 
*' You  should  rather  have  thrown  yourself  on  your 
knees,"  says  Adams,  ''for  despair  is  sinful."  As 
soon,  continued  the  gentleman,  as  I  had  indulged 
the  first  tumult  of  my  passion,  I  began  to  con- 
sider coolly  what  course  I  should  take,  in  a  situa- 
tion without  friends,  money,  credit,  or  reputation 
of  any  kind.  After  revolving  many  things  in  my 
mind,  I  could  see  no  other  possibility  of  furnish- 
ing myself  with  the  miserable  necessaries  of  life 
than  to  retire  to  a  garret  near  the  Temple,  and 
commence  hackney-writer  to  the  lawyers,  for 
which  I  was  well  qualified,  being  an  excellent  pen- 
man. This  purpose  I  resolved  on,  and  immedi- 
ately put  it  in  execution.  I  had  an  acquaintance 
with  an  attorney  who  had  formerly  transacted  af- 
fairs for  me,  and  to  him  I  applied;  but,  instead 
of  furnishing  me  with  any  business,  he  laughed 
at  my  undertaking,  and  told  me,  ''He  was  afraid 
I  should  turn  his  deeds  into  plays,  and  he  should 
expect  to  see  them  on  the  stage."  Not  to  tire 
you  with  instances  of  this  kind  from  others,  I 
found  that  Plato  himself  did  not  hold  poets  in 
greater  abhorrence  than  these  men  of  business  do. 
"Whenever  I  durst  venture  to  a  coffee-house,  which 
was  on  Sundays  only,  a  whisper  ran  round  the 
room,  which  was  constantly  attended  with  a  sneer 
— That's  poet  Wilson;  for  I  know  not  whether 
you  have  observed  it,  but  there  is  a  malignity  in 
the  nature  of  man,  which,  when  not  weeded  out, 
or  at  least  covered  by  a  good  education  and  polite- 


8a  THE  HISTORY  OF 

ness,  delights  in  making  another  uneasy  or  dissat- 
isfied with  himself.  This  abundantly  appears  in 
all  assemblies,  except  those  which  are  filled  by 
people  of  fashion,  and  especially  among  the  young- 
er people  of  both  sexes  whose  birth  and  fortunes 
place  them  just  without  the  polite  circles ;  I  mean 
the  lower  class  of  the  gentry,  and  the  higher  of 
the  mercantile  world,  who  are,  in  reality,  the 
worst-bred  part  of  mankind.  Well,  sir,  whilst  I 
continued  in  this  miserable  state,  with  scarce  suf- 
ficient business  to  keep  me  from  starving,  the  rep- 
utation of  a  poet  being  my  bane,  I  accidentally  be- 
came acquainted  with  a  bookseller,  who  told  me, 
*'It  was  a  pity  a  man  of  my  learning  and  genius 
should  be  obliged  to  such  a  method  of  getting  his 
livelihood ;  that  he  had  a  compassion  for  me,  and, 
if  I  would  engage  with  him,  he  would  undertake 
to  provide  handsomely  for  me.'*  A  man  in  my 
circumstances,  as  he  very  well  knew,  had  no  choice. 
I  accordingly  accepted  his  proposal  with  his  con- 
ditions, which  were  none  of  the  most  favorable, 
and  fell  to  translating  with  all  my  might.  I  had 
no  longer  reason  to  lament  the  want  of  business ; 
for  he  furnished  me  with  so  much,  that  in  half 
a  year  I  almost  writ  myself  blind.  I  likewise 
contracted  a  distemper  by  my  sedentary  life,  in 
which  no  part  of  my  body  was  exercised  but  my 
right  arm,  which  rendered  me  incapable  of  writing 
for  a  long  time.  This  unluckily  happening  to  de- 
lay the  publication  of  a  work,  and  my  last  per- 
formance not  having  sold  well,  the  bookseller  de- 
clined anv  further  engagement,  and  aspersed  me 
to  his  brethren  as  a  careless  idle  fellow.    I  had, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  81 

however,  by  having  half  worked  and  half  starved 
myself  to  death  during  the  time  I  was  in  his 
service,  saved  a  few  guineas,  with  which  I  bought 
a  lottery-ticket,  resolving  to  throw  myself  into 
Fortune's  lap,  and  try  if  she  would  make  me 
amends  for  the  injuries  she  had  done  me  at  the 
gaming-table.  This  purchase,  being  made,  left 
me  almost  penniless;  when,  as  if  I  had  not  been 
sufficiently  miserable,  a  bailiff  in  woman's  clothes 
got  admittance  to  my  chamber,  whither  he  was 
directed  by  the  bookseller.  He  arrested  me  at  my 
tailor's  suit  for  thirty-five  pounds;  a  sum  for 
which  I  could  not  procure  bail ;  and  was  therefore 
conveyed  to  his  house,  where  I  was  locked  up  in 
an  upper  chamber.  I  had  now  neither  health  (for 
I  was  scarce  recovered  from  my  indisposition), 
liberty,  money,  or  friends ;  and  had  abandoned  all 
hopes,  and  even  the  desire,  of  life.  *'But  this 
could  not  last  long,"  said  Adams;  *'for  doubtless 
the  tailor  released  you  the  moment  he  was  truly 
acquainted  with  your  affairs,  and  knew  that  your 
circumstances  would  not  permit  you  to  pay  him." 
*'0h,  sir,"  answered  the  gentleman,  "he  knew 
that  before  he  arrested  me;  nay,  he  knew  that 
nothing  but  incapacity  could  prevent  me  paying 
my  debts ;  for  I  had  been  his  customer  many  years, 
had  spent  vast  sums  of  money  with  him,  and  had 
always  paid  most  punctually  in  my  prosperous 
days;  but  when  I  reminded  him  of  this,  with  as- 
surances that,  if  he  would  not  molest  my  en- 
deavors, I  would  pay  him  all  the  money  I  could 
by  my  utmost  labor  and  industry  procure,  re- 
serving only  what  was  sufficient  to  preserve  me 

II— 6 


82  THE  HISTORY  OF 

alive,  he  answered,  liis  patience  was  worn  out; 
that  I  had  put  him  off  from  time  to  time ;  that  he 
wanted  the  money ;  that  he  had  put  it  into  a  law- 
yer's  hands;  and  if  I  did  not  pay  him  immedi- 
ately, or  find  security,  I  must  die  in  jail  and  ex- 
pect no  mercy."  "He  may  expect  mercy,"  cries 
Adams,  starting  from  his  chair,  "where  he  will 
find  none!  flow  can  such  a  wretch  repeat  the 
Lord's  Prayer;  where  the  word,  which  is  trans- 
lated, I  know  not  for  what  reason,  trespasses,  is 
in  the  original,  debts'?  And  as  surely  as  we  do 
not  forgive  others  their  debts,  when  they  are  un- 
able to  pay  them,  so  surely  shall  we  ourselves  be 
unforgiven  when  we  are  in  no  condition  of  pay- 
ing." He  ceased,  and  the  gentleman  proceeded. 
While  I  was  in  this  deplorable  situation,  a  for- 
mer acquaintance,  to  whom  I  had  communicated 
my  lottery-ticket,  found  me  out,  and,  making  me 
a  visit,  with  great  delight  in  his  countenance, 
shook  me  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  wished  me  joy 
of  my  good  fortune:  for,  says  he,  your  ticket  is 
come  up  a  prize  of  £3000.  Adams  snapped  his 
fingers  at  these  words  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy ;  which, 
however,  did  not  continue  long ;  for  the  gentleman 
thus  proceeded : — Alas !  sir,  this  was  only  a  trick 
of  Fortune  to  sink  me  the  deeper ;  for  I  had  dis- 
posed of  this  lottery-ticket  two  days  before  to  a 
relation,  who  refused  lending  me  a  shilling  with- 
out it,  in  order  to  procure  myself  bread.  As  soon 
as  my  friend  was  acquainted  with  my  unfortunate 
sale  he  began  to  revile  me  and  remind  me  of  all 
the  ill-conduct  and  miscarriages  of  my  life.  He 
said  I  was  one  whom  Fortune  could  not  save  if 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  83 

she  would;  that  I  was  now  ruined  without  any 
hopes  of  retrieval,  nor  must  expect  any  pity  from 
my  friends ;  that  it  would  be  extreme  weakness  to 
compassionate  the  misfortunes  of  a  man  who  ran 
headlong  to  his  own  destruction.  He  then  painted 
to  me,  in  as  lively  colors  as  he  was  able,  the  hap- 
piness I  should  have  now  enjoyed,  had  I  not 
foolishly  disposed  of  my  ticket.  I  urged  the  plea 
of  necessity ;  but  he  made  no  answer  to  that,  and 
began  again  to  revile  me,  till  I  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  desired  him  to  finish  his  visit.  I  soon 
exchanged  the  bailiff's  house  for  a  prison;  where, 
as  I  had  not  money  sufficient  to  procure  me  a 
separate  apartment,  I  was  crowded  in  with  a  great 
number  of  miserable  wretches,  in  common  with 
whom  I  was  destitute  of  every  convenience  of  life, 
even  that  which  all  the  brutes  enjoy,  wholesome 
air.  In  these  dreadful  circumstances  I  applied 
by  letter  to  several  of  my  old  acquaintance,  and 
such  to  whom  I  had  formerly  lent  money  without 
any  great  prospect  of  its  being  returned,  for  their 
assistance;  but  in  vain.  An  excuse,  instead  of  a 
denial,  was  the  gentlest  answer  I  received.  Whilst 
I  languished  in  a  condition  too  horrible  to  be 
described,  and  which,  in  a  land  of  humanity,  and, 
what  is  much  more,  Christianity,  seems  a  strange 
punishment  for  a  little  inadvertency  and  indiscre- 
tion ;  whilst  I  was  in  this  condition,  a  fellow  came 
into  the  prison,  and,  inquiring  me  out,  delivered 
me  the  following  letter: — 

'  '■  Sir, — My  father  to  whom  you  sold  your  ticket 
in  the  last  lottery,  died  the  same  day  in  which  it 


84  THE  HISTORY  OF 

came  up  a  prize,  as  you  have  possibly  heard,  and 
left  me  sole  heiress  of  all  his  fortune.  I  am  so 
much  touched  with  your  present  circumstances, 
and  the  uneasiness  you  must  feel  at  having  been 
driven  to  dispose  of  what  might  have  made  you 
happy,  that  I  must  desire  your  acceptance  of  the 
enclosed,  and  am  your  humble  servant, 

'^Haeriet  Hearty." 

And  what  do  you  think  was  enclosed  1  '  *  I  don 't 
know,"  cried  Adams;  '*not  less  than  a  guinea,  I 
hope."  Sir,  it  was  a  bank-note  for  £200. — 
'*£200r'  says  Adams,  in  a  rapture.  No  less,  I  as- 
sure you,  answered  the  gentleman;  a  sum  I  was 
not  half  so  delighted  with  as  with  the  dear  name 
of  the  generous  girl  that  sent  it  me;  and  who 
was  not  only  the  best  but  the  handsomest  creature 
in  the  universe,  and  for  whom  I  had  long  had 
a  passion  which  I  never  durst  disclose  to  her. 
I  kissed  her  name  a  thousand  times,  my  eyes 
overflowing  with  tenderness  and  gratitude ;  I  re- 
peated— But  not  to  detain  you  with  these  rap- 
tures, I  immediately  acquired  my  liberty;  and, 
having  paid  all  my  debts,  departed,  with  upwards 
of  fifty  pounds  in  my  pocket,  to  thank  my  kind 
deliverer.  She  happened  to  be  then  out  of  town, 
a  circumstance  which,  upon  reflection,  pleased  me ; 
for  by  that  means  I  had  an  opportunity  to  appear 
before  her  in  a  more  decent  dress.  At  her  return 
to  town,  within  a  day  or  two,  I  threw  myself  at 
her  feet  with  the  most  ardent  acknowledgments, 
which  she  rejected  with  an  unfeigned  greatness 
of  mind,  and  told  me  I  could  not  oblige  her  more 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  65 

than  by  never  mentioning,  or  if  possible  thinking 
on,  a  circumstance  which  must  bring  to  my  mind 
an  accident  that  might  be  grievous  to  me  to  think 
on.  She  proceeded  thus :  "What  I  have  done  is 
in  my  own  eyes  a  trifle,  and  perhaps  infinitely  less 
than  would  have  become  me  to  do.  And  if  you 
think  of  engaging  in  any  business  where  a  larger 
sum  may  be  serviceable  to  you,  I  shall  not  be  over- 
rigid  either  as  to  the  security  or  interest."  I  en- 
deavored to  express  all  the  gratitude  in  my  power 
to  this  profusion  of  goodness,  though  perhaps  it 
was  my  enemy,  and  began  to  afflict  my  mind  with 
more  agonies  than  all  the  miseries  I  had  under- 
went; it  affected  me  with  severer  reflections  than 
poverty,  distress,  and  prisons  united  had  been 
able  to  make  me  feel ;  for,  sir,  these  acts  and  pro- 
fessions of  kindness,  which  were  sufficient  to  have 
raised  in  a  good  heart  the  most  violent  passion 
of  friendship  to  one  of  the  same,  or  to  age  and 
ugliness  in  a  different  sex,  came  to  me  from  a 
woman,  a  young  and  beautiful  woman ;  one  whose 
perfections  I  had  long  known,  and  for  whom  I  had 
long  conceived  a  violent  passion,  though  with  a 
despair  which  made  me  endeavor  rather  to  curb 
and  conceal,  than  to  nourish  or  acquaint  her  with 
it.  In  short,  they  came  upon  me  united  with  beau- 
ty, softness,  and  tenderness:  such  bewitching 
smiles ! — 0  Mr.  Adams,  in  that  moment  I  lost  my- 
self, and,  forgetting  our  different  situations,  nor 
considering  what  return  I  was  making  to  her 
goodness  by  desiring  her,  who  had  given  me  so 
much,  to  bestow  her  all,  I  laid  gently  hold  on  her 
hand,  and,  conveying  it  to  my  lips,  I  pressed  it 


86  THE  HISTORY  OF 

with  inconceivable  ardor;  then,  lifting  up  my 
swimming  eyes,  I  saw  her  face  and  neck  over- 
spread with  one  blush;  she  offered  to  withdraw 
her  hand,  yet  not  so  as  to  deliver  it  from  mine, 
though  I  held  it  with  the  gentlest  force.  We  both 
stood  trembling ;  her  eyes  cast  on  the  ground,  and 
mine  steadfastly  fixed  on  her.  Good  G — d,  what 
was  then  the  condition  of  my  soul!  burning  with 
love,  desire,  admiration,  gratitude,  and  every  ten- 
der passion,  all  bent  on  one  charming  object. 
Passion  at  last  got  the  better  of  both  reason  and 
respect,  and,  softly  letting  go  her  hand,  I  offered 
madly  to  clasp  her  in  my  arms;  when,  a  little 
recovering  herself,  she  started  from  me,  asking 
me,  with  some  show  of  anger,  ''If  she  had  any 
reason  to  expect  this  treatment  from  me."  I 
then  fell  prostrate  before  her,  and  told  her,  if  I 
had  offended,  my  life  was  absolutely  in  her  power, 
which  I  would  in  any  manner  lose  for  her  sake. 
Nay,  madam,  said  I,  you  shall  not  be  so  ready  to 
punish  me  as  I  to  suffer.  I  o^vm  my  guilt.  I 
detest  the  reflection  that  I  would  have  sacrificed 
your  happiness  to  mine.  Believe  me,  I  sincerely 
repent  my  ingratitude ;  yet,  believe  me  too,  it  was 
my  passion,  my  unbounded  passion  for  you,  which 
hurried  me  so  far:  I  have  loved  you  long  and 
tenderly,  and  the  goodness  you  have  shown  me 
hath  innocently  weighed  down  a  wretch  undone 
before.  Acquit  me  of  all  mean,  mercenary  views ; 
and,  before  I  take  my  leave  of  you  for  ever,  which 
I  am  resolved  instantly  to  do,  believe  me  that 
Fortune  could  have  raised  me  to  no  height  to 
which  I  could  not  have  gladly  lifted  you.     0, 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  87 

cursed  be  Fortune! — "Do  not,"  says  she,  inter- 
rupting me  with  the  sweetest  voice,  * '  do  not  curse 
Fortune,  since  she  hath  made  me  happy;  and,  if 
she  hath  put  your  happiness  in  my  power,  I  have 
told  you  you  shall  ask  nothing  in  reason  which  I 
will  refuse."  Madam,  said  I,  you  mistake  me  if 
you  imagine,  as  you  seem,  my  happiness  is  in  the 
power  of  Fortune  now.  You  have  obliged  me  too 
much  already;  if  I  have  any  wish,  it  is  for  some 
blessed  accident,  by  which  I  may  contribute  with 
my  life  to  the  least  augmentation  of  your  felicity. 
As  for  myself,  the  only  happiness  I  can  ever  have 
will  be  hearing  of  yours ;  and  if  fortune  will  make 
that  complete,  I  will  forgive  her  all  her  wrongs  to 
me.  ''You  may,  indeed,"  answered  she,  smiling, 
''for  your  own  happiness  must  be  included  in 
mine.  I  have  long  known  your  worth ;  nay,  I  must 
confess,"  said  she,  blushing,  "I  have  long  discov- 
ered that  passion  for  me  you  profess,  notwith- 
standing those  endeavors,  which  I  am  convinced 
were  unaffected,  to  conceal  it;  and  if  all  I  can 
give  with  reason  will  not  suffice,  take  reason  away ; 
and  now  I  believe  you  cannot  ask  me  what  I  will 
deny." She  uttered  these  words  with  a  sweet- 
ness not  to  be  imagined.  I  immediately  started ; 
my  blood,  which  lay  freezing  at  my  heart,  rushed 
tumultuously  through  every  vein.  I  stood  for  a 
moment  silent ;  then,  flying  to  her,  I  caught  her  in 
my  arms,  no  longer  resisting,  and  softly  told  her 
she  must  give  me  then  herself.  0,  sir !  can  I  de- 
scribe her  look?  She  remained  silent,  and  almost 
motionless,  several  minutes.  At  last,  recovering 
herself  a  little,  she  insisted  on  my  leaving  her,  and 


88  THE  HISTORY  ,0F 

in  such  a  manner  that  I  instantly  obeyed :  you  may 
imagine,  however,  I  soon  saw  her  again. — But  I 
ask  pardon :  I  fear  I  have  detained  you  too  long 
in  relating  the  particulars  of  the  former  interview. 
"So  far  otherwise,"  said  Adams,  licking  his  lips, 
**that  I  could  willingly  hear  it  over  again."  Well, 
sir,  continued  the  gentleman,  to  be  as  concise  as 
possible,  within  a  week  she  consented  to  make  me 
the  happiest  of  mankind.  We  were  married 
shortly  after;  and  when  I  came  to  examine  the 
circumstances  of  my  wife's  fortune  (which,  I  do 
assure  you,  I  was  not  presently  at  leisure  enough 
to  do),  I  found  it  amounted  to  about  six  thousand 
pounds,  most  part  of  which  lay  in  effects ;  for  her 
father  had  been  a  wine-merchant,  and  she  seemed 
willing,  if  I  liked  it,  that  I  should  carry  on  the 
same  trade.  I  readily,  and  too  inconsiderately, 
undertook  it ;  for,  not  having  been  bred  up  to  the 
secrets  of  the  business,  and  endeavoring  to  deal 
with  the  utmost  honesty  and  uprightness,  I  soon 
found  our  fortune  in  a  declining  way,  and  my 
trade  decreasing  by  little  and  little ;  for  my  wines, 
which  I  never  adulterated  after  their  importation, 
and  were  sold  as  neat  as  they  came  over,  were 
universally  decried  by  the  vintners,  to  whom  I 
could  not  allow  them  quite  as  cheap  as  those  who 
gained  double  the  profit  by  a  less  price.  I  soon 
began  to  despair  of  improving  our  fortune  by 
these  means;  nor  was  I  at  all  easy  at  the  visits 
and  familiarity  of  many  who  had  been  my  ac- 
quaintance in  my  prosperity,  but  had  denied  and 
shunned  me  in  my  adversity,  and  now  very  for- 
wardly  renewed  their  acquaintance  with  me.    In 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  89 

short,  I  had  sufficiently  seen  that  the  pleasures  of 
the  world  are  chiefly  folly,  and  the  business  of  it 
mostly  knavery,  and  both  nothing  better  than 
vanity;  the  men  of  pleasure  tearing  one  another 
to  pieces  from  the  emulation  of  spending  money, 
and  the  men  of  business  from  envy  in  getting  it. 
My  happiness  consisted  entirely  in  my  wife,  whom 
I  loved  with  an  inexpressible  fondness,  which  was 
perfectly  returned;  and  my  prospects  were  no 
other  than  to  provide  for  our  growing  family ;  for 
she  was  now  big  of  her  second  child:  I  therefore 
took  an  opportunity  to  ask  her  opinion  of  enter- 
ing into  a  retired  life,  which,  after  hearing  my 
reasons  and  perceiving  my  affection  for  it,  she 
readily  embraced.  We  soon  put  our  small  for- 
tune, now  reduced  under  three  thousand  pounds, 
into  money,  with  part  of  which  we  purchased  this 
little  place,  whither  we  retired  soon  after  her  de- 
livery, from  a  world  full  of  bustle,  noise,  hatred, 
envy,  and  ingratitude,  to  ease,  quiet,  and  love. 
We  have  here  lived  almost  twenty  years,  with  lit- 
tle other  conversation  than  our  own,  most  of  the 
neighborhood  taking  us  for  very  strange  people ; 
the  squire  of  the  parish  representing  me  as  a  mad- 
man, and  the  parson  as  a  presbyterian,  because 
I  will  not  hunt  with  the  one  nor  drink  with  the 
other.  "Sir,"  says  Adams,  ''Fortune  hath,  I 
think,  paid  you  all  her  debts  in  this  sweet  retire- 
ment." Sir,  replied  the  gentleman,  I  am  thank- 
ful to  the  great  Author  of  all  things  for  the  bless- 
ings I  here  enjoy.  I  have  the  best  of  wives,  and 
three  pretty  children,  for  whom  I  have  the  true 
tenderness  of  a  parent.     But  no  blessings  are 


90  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

pure  in  this  world:  witliin  three  years  of  my  ar- 
rival here  I  lost  my  eldest  son.  (Here  he  sighed 
bitterly.)  ''Sir,"  says  Adams,  "we  must  submit 
to  Providence,  and  consider  death  as  common  to 
all."  We  must  submit,  indeed,  answered  the  gen- 
tleman ;  and  if  he  had  died  I  could  have  borne  the 
loss  with  patience;  but  alas!  sir,  he  was  stolen 
away  from  my  door  by  some  wicked  traveling 
people  whom  they  call  gypsies;  nor  could  I  ever, 
with  the  most  diligent  search,  recover  him.  Poor 
child !  he  had  the  sweetest  look — the  exact  picture 
of  his  mother;  at  which  some  tears  unwittingly 
dropped  from  his  eyes,  as  did  likewise  from  those 
of  Adams,  who  always  sympathized  with  his 
friends  on  those  occasions.  Thus,  sir,  said  the 
gentleman,  I  have  finished  my  story,  in  which  if 
I  have  been  too  particular,  I  ask  your  pardon; 
and  now,  if  you  please,  I  will  fetch  you  another 
bottle:  which  proposal  the  parson  thankfully  ac- 
cepted. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  description  of  Mr.  Wilson's  way  of  living.     The  tragical 
adventure  of  the  dog,  and  other  grave  matters. 

THE  gentleman  returned  with  the  bottle; 
and  Adams  and  he  sat  some  time  silent, 
when  the  former  started  up,  and  cried, 
''No,  that  won't  do."  The  gentleman  inquired 
into  his  meaning;  he  answered,  "He  had  been  con- 
sidering that  it  was  possible  the  late  famous  king 
Theodore  might  have  been  that  very  son  whom  he 
had  lost;"  but  added,  "that  his  age  could  not 
answer  that  imagination.  However,"  says  he, 
"G —  disposes  all  things  for  the  best;  and  very 
probably  he  may  be  some  great  man,  or  duke,  and 
may,  one  day  or  other,  revisit  you  in  that  ca- 
pacity." The  gentleman  answered,  he  should 
know  him  amongst  ten  thousand,  for  he  had  a 
mark  on  his  left  breast  of  a  strawberry,  which  his 
mother  had  given  him  by  longing  for  that  fruit. 

That  beautiful  young  lady  the  Morning  now 
rose  from  her  bed,  and  with  a  countenance  bloom- 
ing with  fresh  youth  and  sprightliness,  like  Miss 
— ,^  with  soft  dews  hanging  on  her  pouting  lips, 
began  to  take  her  early  walk  over  the  eastern 
hills ;  and  presently  after,  that  gallant  person  the 
Sun  stole  softly  from  his  wife's  chamber  to  pay 
his  addresses  to  her;  when  the  gentleman  asked 

1  Whoever  the  reader  pleases. 

91 


92  THE  HISTORY  OF 

his  guest  if  he  would  walk  forth  and  survey  his 
little  garden,  which  he  readily  agreed  to,  and 
Joseph  at  the  same  time  awaking  from  a  sleep 
in  which  he  had  been  two  hours  buried,  went  with 
them.  No  parterres,  no  fountains,  no  statues,  em- 
bellished this  little  garden.  Its  only  ornament 
was  a  short  walk,  shaded  on  each  side  by  a  filbert- 
hedge,  with  a  small  alcove  at  one  end,  whither 
in  hot  weather  the  gentleman  and  his  wife  used 
to  retire  and  divert  themselves  with  their  children, 
who  played  in  the  walk  before  them.  But,  though 
vanity  had  no  votary  in  this  little  spot,  here  was 
variety  of  fruit  and  everything  useful  for  the 
kitchen,  which  was  abundantly  sufficient  to  catch 
the  admiration  of  Adams,  who  told  the  gentleman 
he  had  certainly  a  good  gardener.  Sir,  answered 
he,  that  gardener  is  now  before  you:  whatever 
you  see  here  is  the  work  solely  of  my  own  hands. 
AVhilst  I  am  providing  necessaries  for  my  table, 
I  likewise  procure  myself  an  appetite  for  them. 
In  fair  seasons  I  seldom  pass  less  than  six  hours 
of  the  twenty-four  in  this  place,  where  I  am  not 
idle;  and  by  these  means  I  have  been  able  to  pre- 
serve my  health  ever  since  my  arrival  here,  with- 
out assistance  from  physic.  Hither  I  generally 
repair  at  the  dawn,  and  exercise  myself  whilst 
my  wife  dresses  her  children  and  prepares  our 
breakfast;  after  which  we  are  seldom  asunder 
during  the  residue  of  the  day,  for,  when  the 
weather  will  not  permit  them  to  accompany  me 
here,  I  am  usually  within  with  them;  for  T  am 
neither  ashamed  of  conversing  with  my  wife  nor 
of  playing  with  my  children :  to  say  the  truth,  I 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  93 

do  not  perceive  that  inferiority  of  understanding 
which  the  levity  of  rakes,  the  dullness  of  men  of 
business,  or  the  austerity  of  the  learned,  would 
persuade  us  of  in  women.  As  for  my  woman, 
I  declare  I  have  found  none  of  my  own  sex  capable 
of  making  juster  observations  on  life,  or  of  de- 
livering them  more  agreeably;  nor  do  I  believe 
any  one  possessed  of  a  faithfuUer  or  braver 
friend.  And  sure  as  this  friendship  is  sweetened 
with  more  delicacy  and  tenderness,  so  is  it  con- 
firmed by  dearer  pledges  than  can  attend  the 
closest  male  alliance;  for  what  union  can  be  so 
fast  as  our  common  interest  in  the  fruits  of 
our  embraces?  Perhaps,  sir,  you  are  not  yourself 
a  father;  if  you  are  not,  be  assured  you  cannot 
conceive  the  delight  I  have  in  my  little  ones. 
Would  you  not  despise  me  if  you  saw  me  stretched 
on  the  ground,  and  my  children  playing  round 
me?  *'I  should  reverence  the  sight,"  quoth 
Adams;  ^'I  myself  am  now  the  father  of  six,  and 
have  been  of  eleven,  and  I  can  say  I  never 
scourged  a  child  of  my  own,  unless  as  his  school- 
master, and  then  have  felt  every  stroke  on  my 
own  posteriors.  And  as  to  what  you  say  con- 
cerning women,  I  have  often  lamented  my  own 
wife  did  not  understand  Greek," — The  gentle- 
man smiled,  and  answered,  he  would  not  be 
apprehended  to  insinuate  that  his  own  had  an 
understanding  above  the  care  of  her  family;  on 
the  contrary,  says  he,  my  Harriet,  I  assure  you, 
is  a  notable  housewife,  and  few  gentlemen's 
housekeepers  understand  cookery  or  confection- 
ery better;  but  these  are  arts  which  she  hath  no 


94  THE  HISTOKY  OF 

great  occasion  for  now:  however,  the  wine  you 
commended  so  much  last  night  at  supper  was  of 
her  own  making,  as  is  indeed  all  the  liquor  in 
my  house,  except  my  beer,  which  falls  to  my 
province,  ''And  I  assure  you  it  is  as  excellent," 
quoth  Adams,  "as  ever  I  tasted."  "VVe  formerly 
kept  a  maid-servant,  but  since  my  girls  have  been 
growing  up  she  is  unwilling  to  indulge  them  in 
idleness;  for  as  the  fortunes  I  shall  give  them 
will  be  very  small,  we  intend  not  to  breed  them 
above  the  rank  they  are  likely  to  fill  hereafter, 
nor  to  teach  them  to  despise  or  ruin  a  plain  hus- 
band. Indeed,  I  could  wish  a  man  of  my  own 
temper,  and  a  retired  life,  might  fall  to  their  lot; 
for  I  have  experienced  that  calm,  serene  happi- 
ness, which  is  seated  in  content,  is  inconsistent 
with  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  the  world.  He  was 
proceeding  thus  when  the  little  things,  being  just 
risen,  ran  eagerly  towards  him  and  asked  him 
blessing.  They  were  shy  to  the  strangers,  but 
the  eldest  acquainted  her  father,  that  her  mother 
and  the  young  gentlewoman  were  up,  and  that 
breakfast  was  ready.  They  all  went  in,  where 
the  gentleman  was  surprised  at  the  beauty  of 
Fanny,  who  had  now  recovered  herself  from  her 
fatigue,  and  was  entirely  clean  dressed;  for  the 
rogues  who  had  taken  away  her  purse  had  left 
her  her  bundle.  But  if  he  was  so  much  amazed  at 
the  beauty  of  this  young  creature,  his  guests  were 
no  less  charmed  at  the  tenderness  which  appeared 
in  the  behavior  of  the  husband  and  wife  to  each 
other,  and  to  their  children,  and  at  the  dutiful 
and  affectionate  behavior  of  these  to  their  par- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  95 

ents.  These  instances  pleased  the  well-disposed 
mind  of  Adams  equally  with  the  readiness  which 
they  expressed  to  oblige  their  guests,  and  their 
forwardness  to  offer  them  the  best  of  everything 
in  their  house ;  and  what  delighted  him  still  more 
was  an  instance  or  two  of  their  charity;  for 
whilst  they  were  at  breakfast  the  good  woman 
was  called  for  to  assist  her  sick  neighbor,  which 
she  did  with  some  cordials  made  for  the  public 
use,  and  the  good  man  went  into  his  garden  at 
the  same  time  to  supply  another  with  something 
which  he  wanted  thence,  for  they  had  nothing 
which  those  who  wanted  it  were  not  welcome  to. 
These  good  people  were  in  the  utmost  cheerful- 
ness, when  they  heard  the  report  of  a  gun,  and 
immediately  afterwards  a  little  dog,  the  favorite 
of  the  eldest  daughter,  came  limping  in  all  bloody 
and  laid  himself  at  his  mistress's  feet:  the  poor 
girl,  who  was  about  eleven  years  old,  burst  into 
tears  at  the  sight ;  and  presently  one  of  the  neigh- 
bors came  in  and  informed  them  that  the  young 
squire,  the  son  of  the  lord  of  the  manor,  had 
shot  him  as  he  passed  by,  swearing  at  the  same 
time  he  would  prosecute  the  master  of  him  for 
keeping  a  spaniel,  for  that  he  had  given  notice 
he  would  not  suffer  one  in  the  parish.  The  dog, 
whom  his  mistress  had  taken  into  her  lap,  died 
in  a  few  minutes,  licking  her  hand.  She  ex- 
pressed great  agony  at  his  loss,  and  the  other 
children  began  to  cry  for  their  sister's  misfor- 
tune; nor  could  Fanny  herself  refrain.  Whilst 
the  father  and  mother  attempted  to  comfort  her, 
Adams  grasped  his  crabstick  and  would  have 


96  THE  HISTORY  OF 

sallied  out  after  the  squire  had  not  Joseph  with- 
held him.  He  could  not  however  bridle  his  tongue 
— he  pronounced  the  word  rascal  with  great 
emphasis;  said  he  deserved  to  be  hanged  more 
than  a  highwayman,  and  wished  he  had  the 
scourging  him.  The  mother  took  her  child,  la- 
menting and  carrying  the  dead  favorite  in  her 
arms,  out  of  the  room,  when  the  gentleman  said 
this  was  the  second  time  this  squire  had  en- 
deavored to  kill  the  little  wretch,  and  had  wounded 
him  smartly  once  before;  adding,  he  could  have 
no  motive  but  ill-nature,  for  the  little  thing,  which 
was  not  near  as  big  as  one's  fist,  had  never  been 
twenty  yards  from  the  house  in  the  six  years 
his  daughter  had  had  it.  He  said  he  had  done 
nothing  to  deserve  this  usage,  but  his  father  had 
too  great  a  fortune  to  contend  with :  that  he  was 
as  absolute  as  any  tyrant  in  the  universe,  and 
had  killed  all  the  dogs  and  taken  away  all  the 
guns  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  not  only  that,  but 
he  trampled  down  hedges  and  rode  over  corn 
and  gardens,  with  no  more  regard  than  if  they 
were  the  highway.  "I  wish  I  could  catch  him 
in  my  garden,"  said  Adams,  "though  I  would 
rather  forgive  him  riding  through  my  house  than 
such  an  ill-natured  act  as  this." 

The  cheerfulness  of  their  conversation  being 
interrupted  by  this  accident,  in  which  the  guests 
could  be  of  no  service  to  their  kind  entertainers ; 
and  as  the  mother  was  taken  up  in  administering 
consolation  to  the  poor  girl,  whose  disposition 
was  too  good  hastily  to  forget  the  sudden  loss 
of  her  little  favorite,  which  had  been  fondling 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  97 

with  her  a  few  minutes  before;  and  as  Joseph 
and  Fanny  were  impatient  to  get  home  and  begin 
those  previous  ceremonies  to  their  happiness 
which  Adams  had  insisted  on,  they  now  offered 
to  take  their  leave.  The  gentleman  importuned 
them  much  to  stay  dinner;  but  when  he  found 
their  eagerness  to  depart  he  summoned  his  wife; 
and  accordingly,  having  performed  all  the  usual 
ceremonies  of  bows  and  curtsies  more  pleasant 
to  be  seen  than  to  be  related,  they  took  their 
leave,  the  gentleman  and  his  wife  heartily  wish- 
ing them  a  good  journey,  and  they  as  heartily 
thanking  them  for  their  kind  entertainment. 
They  then  departed,  Adams  declaring  that  this 
was  the  manner  in  which  the  people  had  lived  in 
the  golden  age. 


II— f 


CHAPTER  V 

A  disputation  on  schools  held  on  the  road  between  Mr. 
Abraham  Adams  and  Joseph;  and  a  discovery  not  un- 
welcome to  them  both. 

OUR  travelers,  having  well  refreshed 
themselves  at  the  gentleman's  house, 
Joseph  and  Fanny  with  sleep,  and  Mr. 
Abraham  Adams  with  ale  and  tobacco,  renewed 
their  journey  with  great  alacrity;  and  pursuing 
the  road  into  which  they  were  directed,  traveled 
many  miles  before  they  met  with  any  adventure 
worth  relating.  In  this  interval  we  shall  present 
our  readers  with  a  very  curious  discourse,  as 
we  apprehend  it,  concerning  public  schools,  which 
passed  between  Mr.  Joseph  Andrews  and  Mr. 
Abraham  Adams. 

They  had  not  gone  far  before  Adams,  calling 
to  Joseph,  asked  him,  ''If  he  had  attended  to  the 
gentleman's  story?"  He  answered,  ''To  all  the 
former  part." — "And  don't  you  think,"  says  he, 
*'he  was  a  very  unhappy  man  in  his  youth?" — 
*'A  very  unhappy  man,  indeed,"  answered  the 
other.  "Joseph,"  cries  Adams,  screwing  up  his 
mouth,  "I  have  found  it;  I  have  discovered  the 
cause  of  all  the  misfortune  which  befell  him :  a  pub- 
lic school,  Joseph,  was  the  cause  of  all  the  calami- 
ties which  he  afterwards  suffered.  Public  schools 
are  the  nurseries  of  all  vice  and  immorality.    All 

98 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  99 

the  wicked  fellows  whom  I  remember  at  the  uni- 
versity were  bred  at  them. — Ah,  Lord!  I  can 
remember  as  well  as  if  it  was  but  yesterday,  a 
knot  of  them;  they  called  them  King's  scholars, 
I  forget  why — very  wicked  fellows!  Joseph, 
you  may  thank  the  Lord  you  were  not  bred  at 
a  public  school ;  you  would  never  have  preserved 
your  virtue  as  you  have.  The  first  care  I  always 
take  is  of  a  boy's  morals;  I  had  rather  he  should 
be  a  blockhead  than  an  atheist  or  a  presbyterian. 
What  is  all  the  learning  in  the  world  compared 
to  his  immortal  soul?  What  shall  a  man  take  in 
exchange  for  his  soul?  But  the  masters  of  great 
schools  trouble  themselves  about  no  such  thing. 
I  have  known  a  lad  of  eighteen  at  the  university, 
who  hath  not  been  able  to  say  his  catechism; 
but  for  my  own  part  I  always  scourged  a  lad 
sooner  for  missing  that  than  any  other  lesson. 
Believe  me,  child,  all  that  gentleman's  misfor- 
tunes arose  from  his  being  educated  at  a  public 
school." 

''It  doth  not  become  me,"  answered  Joseph, 
"to  dispute  anything,  sir,  with  you,  especially 
a  matter  of  this  kind;  for  to  be  sure  you  must 
be  allowed  by  all  the  world  to  be  the  best  teacher 
of  a  school  in  all  our  county."  "Yes,  that,'* 
says  Adams,  "I  believe,  is  granted  me;  that  I 
may  without  much  vanity  pretend  to — nay,  I 
believe  I  may  go  to  the  next  county  too — but 
gloriari  non  est  meum." — "However,  sir,  as  you 
are  pleased  to  bid  me  speak,"  says  Joseph,  "you 
know  my  late  master.  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  was 
bred  at  a  public  school,  and  he  was  the  finest 


100  THE  HISTORY  OF 

gentleman  in  all  tlie  neighborhood.  And  I  have 
often  heard  him  say,  if  he  had  a  hundred  boys 
he  would  breed  them  all  at  the  same  place.  It 
was  his  opinion,  and  I  have  often  heard  him  de- 
liver it,  that  a  boy  taken  from  a  public  school 
and  carried  into  the  world,  will  learn  more  in 
one  year  there  than  one  of  a  private  education 
will  in  five.  He  used  to  say  the  school  itself 
initiated  him  a  great  way  (I  remember  that  was 
his  very  expression),  for  great  schools  are  lit- 
tle societies,  where  a  boy  of  any  observation 
may  see  in  epitome  what  he  will  afterwards  find 
in  the  world  at  large." — "Hinc  ilia  lacJirymce: 
for  that  very  reason,"  quoth  Adams,  *'I  prefer 
a  private  school,  where  boys  may  be  kept  in  in- 
nocence and  ignorance ;  for,  according  to  that  fine 
passage  in  the  play  of  Cato,  the  only  English 
tragedy  I  ever  read — 

'If  knowledge  of  the  world  must  make  men  villains 
May  Juba  ever  live  in  ignorance!' 

Who  would  not  rather  preserve  the  purity  of 
his  child  than  wish  him  to  attain  the  whole  circle 
of  arts  and  sciences?  which,  by  the  bye,  he  may 
learn  in  the  classes  of  a  private  school;  for  I 
would  not  be  vain,  but  I  esteem  myself  to  be 
second  to  none,  mdli  secundum,  in  teaching  these 
things;  so  that  a  lad  may  have  as  much  learning 
in  a  private  as  in  a  public  education." — "And, 
with  submission,"  answered  Joseph,  "he  may 
get  as  much  vice :  witness  several  country  gentle- 
men, who  were  educated  within  five  miles  of  their 
own  houses,  and  are  as  wicked  as  if  they  had 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  101 

known  the  world  from  their  infancy.  I  remem-' 
ber  when  I  was  in  the  stable,  if  a  young  horse 
was  vicious  in  his  nature,  no  correction  would 
make  him  otherwise:  I  take  it  to  be  equally  the 
same  among  men:  if  a  boy  be  of  a  mischievous 
wicked  inclination,  no  school,  though  ever  so 
private,  will  ever  make  him  good:  on  the  con- 
trary, if  he  be  of  a  righteous  temper,  you  may 
trust  him  to  London,  or  wherever  else  you  please 
— he  will  be  in  no  danger  of  being  corrupted. 
Besides,  I  have  often  heard  my  master  say  that 
the  discipline  practiced  in  public  schools  was 
much  better  than  that  in  private." — ''You  talk 
like  a  jackanapes,"  says  Adams,  ''and  so  did 
your  master.  Discipline  indeed !  Because  one  man 
scourges  twenty  or  thirty  boys  more  in  a  morn- 
ing than  another,  is  he  therefore  a  better  disci- 
plinarian? I  do  presume  to  confer  in  this  point 
with  all  who  have  taught  from  Chiron's  time  to 
this  day;  and,  if  I  was  master  of  six  boys  only, 
I  would  preserve  as  good  discipline  amongst 
them  as  the  master  of  the  greatest  school  in  the 
world.  I  say  nothing,  young  man;  remember  I 
say  nothing;  but  if  Sir  Thomas  himself  had  been 
educated  nearer  home,  and  under  the  tuition  of 
somebody — remember  I  name  nobody — it  might 
have  been  better  for  him: — but  his  father  must 
institute  him  in  the  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Nemo  mortalimn  omnibus  horis  sapit."  Joseph, 
seeing  him  run  on  in  this  manner,  asked  pardon 
many  times,  assuring  him  he  had  no  intention  to 
offend.  *'I  believe  you  had  not,  child,"  said  he, 
"and  I  am  not  angry  with  you;  but  for  main- 


102  THE  HISTORY  OF 

taining  good  discipline  in  a  school;  for  this." — 
And  then  he  ran  on  as  before,  named  all  the 
masters  who  are  recorded  in  old  books,  and  pre- 
ferred himself  to  them  all.  Indeed,  if  this  good 
man  had  an  enthusiasm,  or  what  the  vulgar  call 
a  blind  side,  it  was  this:  he  thought  a  school- 
master the  greatest  character  in  the  world, 
and  himself  the  greatest  of  all  schoolmasters: 
neither  of  which  points  he  would  have  given  up 
to  Alexander  the  Great  at  the  head  of  his  army. 

Adams  continued  his  subject  till  they  came  to 
one  of  the  beautifullest  spots  of  ground  in  the 
universe.  It  was  a  kind  of  natural  amphitheater, 
formed  by  the  winding  of  a  small  rivulet,  which 
was  planted  with  thick  woods,  and  the  trees  rose 
gradually  above  each  other  by  the  natural  ascent 
of  the  ground  they  stood  on;  which  ascent  as 
they  hid  with  their  boughs,  they  seemed  to  have 
been  disposed  by  the  design  of  the  most  skillful 
planter.  The  soil  was  spread  with  a  verdure 
which  no  paint  could  imitate ;  and  the  whole  place 
might  have  raised  romantic  ideas  in  elder  minds 
than  those  of  Joseph  and  Fanny,  without  the  as- 
sistance of  love. 

Here  they  arrived  about  noon,  and  Joseph  pro- 
posed to  Adams  that  they  should  rest  awhile 
in  this  delightful  place,  and  refresh  themselves 
with  some  provisions  which  the  good-nature  of 
Mrs.  Wilson  had  provided  them  with.  Adams 
made  no  objection  to  the  proposal ;  so  down  they 
sat,  and,  pulling  out  a  cold  fowl  and  a  bottle  of 
wine,  they  made  a  repast  with  a  cheerfulness 
which  might  have  attracted  the  envy  of  more 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  103 

splendid  tables.  I  should  not  omit  that  they 
found  among  their  provision  a  little  paper  con- 
taining a  piece  of  gold,  which  Adams  imagining 
had  been  put  there  by  mistake,  would  have  re- 
turned back  to  restore  it;  but  he  was  at  last 
convinced  by  Joseph  that  Mr.  Wilson  had  taken 
this  handsome  way  of  furnishing  them  with  a 
supply  for  their  journey,  on  his  having  related 
the  distress  which  they  had  been  in,  when  they 
were  relieved  by  the  generosity  of  the  peddler. 
Adams  said  he  was  glad  to  see  such  an  instance 
of  goodness,  not  so  much  for  the  conveniency 
which  it  brought  them  as  for  the  sake  of  the  doer, 
whose  reward  would  be  great  in  heaven.  He 
likewise  comforted  himself  with  a  reflection  that 
he  should  shortly  have  an  opportunity  of  return- 
ing it  him ;  for  the  gentleman  was  within  a  week 
to  make  a  journey  into  Somersetshire,  to  pass 
through  Adams 's  parish,  and  had  faithfully  prom- 
ised to  call  on  him;  a  circumstance  which  we 
thought  too  immaterial  to  mention  before;  but 
which  those  who  have  as  great  an  affection  for 
that  gentleman  as  ourselves  will  rejoice  at,  as  it 
may  give  them  hopes  of  seeing  him  again.  Then 
Joseph  made  a  speech  on  charity,  which  the  read- 
er, if  he  is  so  disposed,  may  see  in  the  next  chap- 
ter ;  for  we  scorn  to  betray  him  into  any  such  read- 
ing, without  first  giving  him  warning. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Moral  reflections  by  Joseph  Andrews;  ■with  the  hunting  ad- 
venture, and  parson  Adams's  miraculous  escape. 


I 


^^^  HAVE  often  wondered,  sir,"  said  Joseph, 
*'to  observe  so  few  instances  of  charity 
among  mankind ;  for  though  the  goodness 
of  a  man's  heart  did  not  incline  him  to  relieve 
the  distresses  of  his  fellow-creatures,  methinks 
the  desire  of  honor  should  move  him  to  it.  What 
inspires  a  man  to  build  fine  houses,  to  purchase 
fine  furniture,  pictures,  clothes,  and  other  things, 
at  a  great  expense,  but  an  ambition  to  be  re- 
spected more  than  other  people?  Now,  would 
not  one  great  act  of  charity,  one  instance  of  re- 
deeming a  poor  family  from  all  the  miseries  of 
poverty,  restoring  an  unfortunate  tradesman  by 
a  sum  of  money  to  the  means  of  procuring  a 
livelihood  by  his  industry,  discharging  an  undone 
debtor  from  his  debts  or  a  jail,  or  any  such- 
like example  of  goodness,  create  a  man  more 
honor  and  respect  than  he  could  acquire  by  the 
finest  house,  furniture,  pictures,  or  clothes,  that 
were  ever  beheld?  For  not  only  the  object  him- 
self who  was  thus  relieved,  but  all  who  heard 
the  name  of  such  a  person,  must,  I  imagine, 
reverence  him  infinitely  more  than  the  possessor 
of  all  those  other  things;  which  when  we  so 
admire,  we  rather  praise  the  builder,  the  work- 

104 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  105 

man,  the  painter,  the  lace-maker,  the  tailor,  and 
the  rest,  by  whose  ingenuity  they  are  produced, 
than  the  person  who  by  his  money  makes  them 
his  own.  For  my  own  part,  when  I  have  waited 
behind  my  lady  in  a  room  hung  with  fine  pictures, 
while  I  have  been  looking  at  them  I  have  never 
once  thought  of  their  owner,  nor  hath  any  one 
else,  as  I  ever  observed;  for  when  it  hath  been- 
asked  whose  picture  that  was,  it  was  never  once 
answered  the  master's  of  the  house;  but  Ammy- 
conni,  Paul  Varnish,  Hannibal  Scratchi,  or  Ho- 
garthi,  which  I  suppose  were  the  names  of  the 
painters ;  but  if  it  was  asked — Who  redeemed  such 
a  one  out  of  prison?  Who  lent  such  a  ruined 
tradesman  money  to  set  up?  Who  clothed  that 
family  of  poor  small  children?  it  is  very  plain 
what  must  be  the  answer.  And  besides,  these 
great  folks  are  mistaken  if  they  imagine  they  get 
any  honor  at  all  by  these  means ;  for  I  do  not  re- 
member I  ever  was  with  my  lady  at  any  house 
where  she  commended  the  house  or  furniture  but 
I  have  heard  her  at  her  return  home  make  sport 
and  jeer  at  whatever  she  had  before  commended ; 
and  I  have  been  told  by  other  gentleman  in  livery 
that  it  is  the  same  in  their  families:  but  I  defy 
the  wisest  man  in  the  world  to  turn  a  true  good 
action  into  ridicule.  I  defy  him  to  do  it.  He 
who  should  endeavor  it  would  be  laughed  at  him- 
self, instead  of  making  others  laugh.  Nobody 
scarce  doth  any  good,  yet  they  all  agree  in  prais- 
ing those  who  do.  Indeed,  it  is  strange  that  all 
men  should  consent  in  commending  goodness, 
and  no  man  endeavor  to  deserve  that  commen- 


106  THE  HISTORY  OF 

dation ;  wliilst,  on  the  contrary,  all  rail  at  wicked- 
ness, and  all  are  as  eager  to  be  what  they  abuse. 
This  I  know  not  the  reason  of;  but  it  is  as  plain 
as  daylight  to  those  who  converse  in  the  world, 
as  I  have  done  these  three  years."  ''Are  all  the 
great  folks  wicked  then!"  says  Fanny.  ''To  be 
sure  there  are  some  exceptions,"  answered 
Joseph.  "Some  gentlemen  of  our  cloth  report 
charitable  actions  done  by  their  lords  and  mas- 
ters; and  I  have  heard  Squire  Pope,  the  great 
poet,  at  my  lady's  table,  tell  stories  of  a  man  that 
lived  at  a  place  called  Ross,  and  another  at  the 
Bath,  one  Al —  Al —  I  forget  his  name,  but  it 
is  in  the  book  of  verses.  This  gentleman  hath 
built  up  a  stately  house  too,  which  the  squire  likes 
very  well ;  but  his  charity  is  seen  farther  than  his 
house,  though  it  stands  on  a  hill, — ay,  and  brings 
him  more  honor  too.  It  was  his  charity  that  put 
him  in  the  book,  where  the  squire  says  he  puts  all 
those  who  deserve  it;  and  to  be  sure,  as  he  lives 
among  all  the  great  people,  if  there  were  any 
such,  he  would  know  them."  This  was  all  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Andrew's  speech  which  I  could  get  him 
to  recollect,  which  I  have  delivered  as  near  as 
was  possible  in  his  own  words,  with  a  very  small 
embellishment.  But  I  believe  the  reader  hath 
not  been  a  little  surprised  at  the  long  silence  of 
parson  Adams,  especially  as  so  many  occasions 
offered  themselves  to  exert  his  curiosity  and  ob- 
servation. The  truth  is,  he  was  fast  asleep,  and 
had  so  been  from  the  beginning  of  the  preceding 
narrative;  and,  indeed,  if  the  reader  considers 
that   so   many  hours   had  passed   since  he  had 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  107 

closed  his  eyes,  lie  will  not  wonder  at  his  repose, 
though  even  Henley  himself,  or  as  great  an  ora- 
tor (if  any  such  be),  had  been  in  his  rostrum  or 
tub  before  him. 

Joseph,  who  whilst  he  was  speaking  had  con- 
tinued in  one  attitude,  with  his  head  reclining  on 
one  side,  and  his  eyes  cast  on  the  ground,  no 
sooner  perceived,  on  looking  up,  the  position  of 
Adams,  who  was  stretched  on  his  back,  and  snored 
louder  than  the  usual  braying  of  the  animal  with 
long  ears,  than  he  turned  towards  Fanny,  and, 
taking  her  by  the  hand,  began  a  dalliance,  which, 
though  consistent  with  the  purest  innocence  and 
decency,  neither  he  would  have  attempted  nor 
she  permitted  before  any  witness.  "Whilst  they 
amused  themselves  in  this  harmless  and  delight- 
ful manner  they  heard  a  pack  of  hounds  ap- 
proaching in  full  cry  towards  them,  and  presently 
afterwards  saw  a  hare  pop  forth  from  the 
wood,  and,  crossing  the  water,  land  within  a  few 
yards  of  them  in  the  meadows.  The  hare  was  no 
sooner  on  shore  than  it  seated  itself  on  its  hinder 
legs,  and  listened  to  the  sound  of  the  pursuers. 
Fanny  was  wonderfully  pleased  with  the  little 
wretch,  and  eagerly  longed  to  have  it  in  her  arms 
that  she  might  preserve  it  from  the  dangers 
which  seemed  to  threaten  it;  but  the  rational 
part  of  the  creation  do  not  always  aptly  dis- 
tinguish their  friends  from  their  foes ;  what  won- 
der then  if  this  silly  creature,  the  moment  it 
beheld  her,  fled  from  the  friend  who  would  have 
protected  it,  and,  traversing  the  meadows  again, 
passed  the  little  rivulet  on  the  opposite  side?    It 


108  THE  HISTOEY  OF 

was,  however,  so  spent  and  weak,  that  it  fell 
down  twice  or  thrice  in  its  way.  This  affected 
the  tender  heart  of  Fanny,  who  exclaimed,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  against  the  barbarity  of  worry- 
ing a  poor  innocent,  defenseless  animal  out  of  its 
life,  and  putting  it  to  the  extremest  torture  for 
diversion.  She  had  not  much  time  to  make  re- 
flections of  this  kind,  for  on  a  sudden  the  hounds 
rushed  through  the  wood,  which  resounded  with 
their  throats  and  the  throats  of  their  retinue,  who 
attended  on  them  on  horseback.  The  dogs  now 
passed  the  rivulet,  and  pursued  the  footsteps  of 
the  hare;  five  horsemen  attempted  to  leap  over, 
three  of  whom  succeeded,  and  two  were  in  the  at- 
tempt thrown  from  their  saddles  into  the  water; 
their  companions  and  their  own  horses  too,  pro- 
ceeded after  their  sport,  and  left  their  friends 
and  riders  to  invoke  the  assistance  of  Fortune, 
or  employ  the  more  active  means  of  strength  and 
agility  for  their  deliverance.  Joseph,  however, 
was  not  so  unconcerned  on  this  occasion;  he  left 
Fanny  for  a  moment  to  herself,  and  ran  to  the 
gentlemen,  who  were  immediately  on  their  legs, 
sliaking  their  ears,  and  easily,  with  the  help  of 
his  hand,  obtained  the  bank  (for  the  rivulet  was 
not  at  all  deep) ;  and,  without  staying  to  thank 
their  kind  assister,  ran  dripping  across  the 
meadow,  calling  to  their  brother  sportsmen  to 
stop  their  horses ;  but  they  heard  them  not. 

The  hounds  were  now  very  little  behind  their 
poor  reeling,  staggering  prey,  which,  fainting  al- 
most at  every  step,  crawled  through  the  wood, 
and  had  almost  got  round  to  the  place  where 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  109 

Fanny  stood,  wlien  it  was  overtaken  by  its 
enemies,  and  being  driven  out  of  the  covert,  was 
caught,  and  instantly  tore  to  pieces  before 
Fanny's  face,  who  was  unable  to  assist  it  with  any 
aid  more  powerful  than  pity ;  nor  could  she  prevail 
on  Joseph,  who  had  been  himself  a  sportsman  in 
his  youth,  to  attempt  anything  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  hunting  in  favor  of  the  hare,  which  he 
said  was  killed  fairly. 

The  hare  was  caught  within  a  yard  or  two  of 
Adams,  who  lay  asleep  at  some  distance  from 
the  lovers;  and  the  hounds,  in  devouring  it,  and 
pulling  it  backwards  and  forwards  had  drawn  it 
so  close  to  him,  that  some  of  them  (by  mistake 
perhaps  for  the  hare's  skin)  laid  hold  of  the 
skirts  of  his  cassock;  others  at  the  same  time 
applying  their  teeth  to  his  wig,  which  he  had  with 
a  handkerchief  fastened  to  his  head,  began  to 
pull  him  about;  and  had  not  the  motion  of  his 
body  had  more  effect  on  him  than  seemed  to  be 
wrought  by  the  noise,  they  must  certainly  have 
tasted  his  flesh,  which  delicious  flavor  might  have 
been  fatal  to  him ;  but  being  roused  by  these  tug- 
gings,  he  instantly  awaked,  and  with  a  jerk  de- 
livering his  head  from  his  wig,  he  with  most 
admirable  dexterity  recovered  his  legs,  which  now 
seemed  the  only  members  he  could  entrust  his 
safety  to.  Having,  therefore,  escaped  likewise 
from  at  least  a  third  part  of  his  cassock,  which 
he  willingly  left  as  his  exuvice  or  spoils  to  the 
enemy,  he  fled  with  the  utmost  speed  he  could 
summon  to  his  assistance.  Nor  let  this  be  any 
detraction  from  the  bravery  of  his  character :  let 


110  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  number  of  the  enemies,  and  the  surprise  in 
which  he  was  taken,  be  considered;  and  if  there 
be  any  modern  so  outrageously  brave  that  he  can- 
not admit  of  flight  in  any  circumstance  whatever, 
I  say  (but  I  whisper  that  softly,  and  I  solemnly 
declare  without  any  intention  of  giving  offense  to 
any  brave  man  in  the  nation),  I  say,  or  rather  I 
whisper,  that  he  is  an  ignorant  fellow,  and  hath 
never  read  Homer  nor  Virgil,  nor  knows  he  any- 
thing of  Hector  or  Turnus;  nay,  he  is  unac- 
quainted with  the  history  of  some  great  men 
living,  who,  though  as  brave  as  lions,  ay,  as  tigers, 
have  run  away,  the  Lord  knows  how  far,  and  the 
Lord  knows  why,  to  the  surprise  of  their  friends 
and  the  entertainment  of  their  enemies.  But  if 
persons  of  such  heroic  disposition  are  a  little 
offended  at  the  behavior  of  Adams,  we  assure 
them  they  shall  be  as  much  pleased  with  what 
we  shall  immediately  relate  of  Joseph  Andrews. 
The  master  of  the  pack  was  just  arrived,  or,  as 
the  sportsmen  call  it,  come  in,  when  Adams  set 
out,  as  we  have  before  mentioned.  This  gentle- 
man was  generally  said  to  be  a  great  lover  of 
humor;  but,  not  to  mince  the  matter,  especially 
as  we  are  upon  this  subject,  he  was  a  great 
hunter  of  men;  indeed,  he  had  hitherto  followed 
the  sport  only  with  dogs  of  his  own  species;  for 
he  kept  two  or  three  couple  of  barking  curs  for 
that  use  only.  However,  as  he  thought  he  had 
now  found  a  man  nimble  enough,  he  was  willing 
to  indulge  himself  with  other  sport,  and  accord- 
ingly, crying  out,  "Stole  away,"  encouraged  the 
hounds  to  pursue  Mr.  Adams,  swearing  it  was 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  111 

the  largest  jack-liare  lie  ever  saw;  at  the  same 
time  hallooing  and  hooping  as  if  a  conquered  foe 
was  flying  before  him;  in  which  he  was  imitated 
by  these  two  or  three  couple  of  human  or  rather 
two-legged  curs  on  horseback  which  we  have  men- 
tioned before. 

Now,  thou,  whoever  thou  art,  whether  a  muse, 
or  by  what  other  name  soever  thou  choosest  to 
be  called,  who  presidest  over  biography,  and  hast 
inspired  all  the  writers  of  lives  in  these  our  times : 
thou  who  didst  infuse  such  wonderful  humor  into 
the  pen  of  immortal  Gulliver;  who  hast  care- 
fully guided  the  judgment  whilst  thou  hast  exalted 
the  nervous,  manly  style  of  thy  Mallet :  thou  who 
hadst  no  hand  in  that  dedication  and  preface,  or 
the  translations,  which  thou  wouldst  willingly 
have  struck  out  of  the  life  of  Cicero :  lastly,  thou 
who,  without  the  assistance  of  the  least  spice  of 
literature,  and  even  against  his  inclination,  hast, 
in  some  pages  of  his  book,  forced  Colley  Gibber 
to  write  English;  do  thou  assist  me  in  what  I 
find  myself  unequal  to.  Do  thou  introduce  on 
the  plain  the  young,  the  gay,  the  brave  Joseph 
Andrews,  whilst  men  shall  view  him  with  admi- 
ration and  envy,  tender  virgins  with  love  and 
anxious  concern  for  his  safety. 

No  sooner  did  Joseph  Andrews  perceive  the 
distress  of  his  friend,  when  first  the  quick-scent- 
ing dogs  attacked  him,  than  he  grasped  his  cudgel 
in  his  right  hand — a  cudgel  which  his  father  had 
of  his  grandfather,  to  whom  a  mighty  strong 
man  of  Kent  had  given  it  for  a  present  in  that 
day  when  he  broke  three  heads  on  the  stage. 


112  THE  HISTORY  OF 

It  was  a  cudgel  of  mighty  strength  and  wonderful 
art,  made  by  one  of  Mr.  Deard's  best  workmen, 
whom  no  other  artificer  can  equal,  and  who  hath 
made  all  those  sticks  which  the  beaux  have  lately 
walked  with  about  the  Park  in  a  morning;  but 
this  was  far  his  masterpiece.  On  its  head  was 
engraved  a  nose  and  chin,  which  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  pair  of  nut-crackers.  The  learned 
have  imagined  it  designed  to  represent  the  Gor- 
gon; but  it  was  in  fact  copied  from  the  face 
of  a  certain  long  English  baronet,  of  infinite  wit, 
humor,  and  gravity.  He  did  intend  to  have  en- 
graved here  many  histories :  as  the  first  night  of 

Captain   B 's   play,   where  you   would  have 

seen  critics  in  embroidery  transplanted  from  the 
boxes  to  the  pit,  whose  ancient  inhabitants  were 
exalted  to  the  galleries,  where  they  played  on 
catcalls.  He  did  intend  to  have  xDainted  an  auc- 
tion room,  where  Mr.  Cock  would  have  appeared 
aloft  in  his  pulpit,  trumpeting  forth  the  praises 
of  a  china  basin,  and  with  astonishment  wonder- 
ing that  '^  Nobody  bids  more  for  that  fine,  that 

superb "     He  did  intend  to  have  engraved 

many  other  things,  but  was  forced  to  leave  all 
out  for  want  of  room. 

No  sooner  had  Joseph  grasped  his  cudgel  in 
his  hands  than  lightning  darted  from  his  eyes; 
and  the  heroic  youth,  swift  of  foot,  ran  with  the 
utmost  speed  to  his  friend's  assistance.  He 
overtook  him  just  as  Eockwood  had  laid  hold  of 
the  skirt  of  his  cassock,  which,  being  torn,  hung 
to  the  ground.  Eeader,  we  would  make  a  simile 
on  this  occasion,  but  for  two  reasons:  the  first 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  ll3 

is,  it  would  interrupt  the  description,  which 
should  be  rapid  in  this  part;  but  that  doth  not 
weigh  much,  many  precedents  occurring  for  such 
an  interruption ;  the  second  and  much  the  greater 
reason  is,  that  we  could  find  no  simile  adequate 
to  our  purpose:  for  indeed,  what  instance  could 
we  bring  to  set  before  our  reader's  eyes  at  once 
the  idea  of  friendship,  courage,  youth,  beauty, 
strength,  and  swiftness?  all  which  blazed  in  the 
person  of  Joseph  Andrews.  Let  those  therefore 
that  describe  lions  and  tigers,  and  heroes  fiercer 
than  both,  raise  their  poems  or  plays  with  the 
simile  of  Joseph  Andrews  who  is  himself  above 
the  reach  of  any  simile. 

Now  Rockwood  had  laid  fast  hold  on  the  par- 
son 's  skirts,  and  stopped  his  flight ;  which  Joseph 
no  sooner  perceived  than  he  leveled  his  cudgel 
at  his  head  and  laid  -him  sprawling.  Jowler  and 
Ringwood  then  fell  on  his  greatcoat,  and  had 
undoubtedly  brought  him  to  the  ground,  had  not 
Joseph,  collecting  all  his  force,  given  Jowler  such 
a  rap  on  the  back,  that,  quitting  his  hold,  he 
ran  howling  over  the  plain.  A  harder  fate  re- 
mained for  thee,  0  Ringw^ood !  Ringwood  the  best 
hound  that  ever  pursued  a  hare,  who  never  threw 
his  tongue  but  where  the  scent  was  undoubtedly 
true ;  good  at  trailing,  and  sure  in  a  highway ;  no 
babbler,  no  overrunner;  respected  by  the  whole 
pack,  who,  whenever  he  opened,  knew  the  game 
was  at  hand.  He  fell  by  the  stroke  of  Joseph. 
Thunder  and  Plunder,  and  Wonder  and  Blunder, 
were  the  next  victims  of  his  wrath,  and  measured 
their  lengths  on  the  ground.     Then  Fairmaid,  a 

II— 3 


114  THE  HISTORY  OF 

bitch  which  Mr.  John  Temple  had  bred  up  in  his 
house,  and  fed  at  his  own  table,  and  lately  sent 
the  squire  fifty  miles  for  a  present,  ran  fiercely 
at  Joseph  and  bit  him  by  the  leg:  no  dog  was  ever 
fiercer  than  she,  being  descended  from  an  Ama- 
zonian breed,  and  had  worried  bulls  in  her  own 
country,  but  now  waged  an  unequal  fight,  and 
had  shared  the  fate  of  those  we  have  mentioned 
before,  had  not  Diana  (the  reader  may  believe 
it  or  not  if  he  pleases)  in  that  instant  interposed, 
and,  in  the  shape  of  the  huntsman,  snatched  her 
favorite  up  in  her  arms. 

The  parson  now  faced  about,  and  with  his  crab- 
stick  felled  many  to  the  earth,  and  scattered 
others,  till  he  was  attacked  by  Caesar  and  pulled 
to  the  ground.  Then  Joseph  flew  to  his  rescue, 
and  with  such  might  fell  on  the  victor,  that,  0 
eternal  blot  to  his  name !  Ca?sar  ran  yelping  away. 

The  battle  now  raged  with  the  most  dreadful 
violence,  when,  lo !  the  huntsman,  a  man  of  years 
and  dignity,  lifted  his  voice,  and  called  his  hounds 
from  the  fight,  telling  them,  in  a  language  they 
understood,  that  it  was  in  vain  to  contend  longer, 
for  that  fate  had  decreed  the  victory  to  their 
enemies. 

Thus  far  the  muse  hath  with  her  usual 
dignity  related  this  prodigious  battle,  a  battle  we 
apprehend  never  equaled  by  any  poet,  romance 
or  life  writer  whatever,  and,  having  brought  it 
to  a  conclusion,  she  ceased;  we  shall  therefore 
proceed  in  our  ordinary  style  with  the  contin- 
uation of  this  history.  The  squire  and  his  com- 
panions, whom  the  figTire  of  Adams  and  the  gal- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  115 

lantry  of  Joseph  had  at  first  thrown  into  a  vio- 
ent  fit  of  laughter,  and  who  had  hitherto  beheld 
the  engagement  with  more  delight  than  any  chase, 
shooting-match,  race,  cock-fighting,  bull  or  bear 
baiting,  had  ever  given  them,  began  now  to 
apprehend  the  danger  of  their  hounds,  many  of 
which  lay  s^Drawling  in  the  fields.  The  squire, 
therefore,  having  first  called  his  friends  about 
him,  as  guards  for  safety  of  his  person,  rode  man- 
fully up  to  the  combatants,  and,  summoning  all 
the  terror  he  was  master  of  into  his  countenance, 
demanded  with  an  authoritative  voice  of  Joseph 
what  he  meant  by  assaulting  his  dogs  in  that 
manner?  Joseph  answered,  with  great  intrepid- 
ity, that  they  had  first  fallen  on  his  friend ;  and  if 
they  had  belonged  to  the  greatest  man  in  the  king- 
dom, he  would  have  treated  them  in  the  same 
way ;  for,  whilst  his  veins  contained  a  single  drop 
of  blood,  he  would  not  stand  idle  by  and  see  that 
gentleman  (pointing  to  Adams)  abused  either  by 
man  or  beast;  and,  having  so  said,  both  he  and 
Adams  brandished  their  wooden  weapons,  and  put 
themselves  into  such  a  posture,  that  the  squire 
and  his  company  thought  proper  to  preponderate 
before  they  offered  to  revenge  the  cause  of  their 
four-footed  allies. 

At  this  instant  Fanny,  whom  the  apprehension 
of  Joseph's  danger  had  alarmed  so  much  that, 
forgetting  her  own,  she  had  made  the  utmost  ex- 
pedition, came  up.  The  squire  and  all  the  horse- 
men were  so  surprised  with  her  beauty,  that  they 
immediately  fixed  both  their  eyes  and  thoughts 
solely  on  her,  every  one  declaring  he  had  never 


116  THE  HISTORY  OF 

seen  so  charming  a  creature.  Neither  mirth  nor 
anger  engaged  them  a  moment  longer,  but  all  sat 
in  silent  amaze.  The  huntsman  only  was  free 
from  her  attraction,  who  was  busy  in  cutting  the 
ears  of  the  dogs,  and  endeavoring  to  recover  them 
to  life;  in  which  he  succeeded  so  well,  that  only 
two  of  no  great  note  remained  slaughtered  on  the 
field  of  action.  Upon  this  the  huntsman  declared, 
*"Twas  well  it  was  no  worse;  for  his  part  he 
could  not  blame  the  gentleman,  and  wondered  his 
master  would  encourage  the  dogs  to  hunt  Chris- 
tians; that  it  was  the  surest  way  to  spoil  them, 
to  make  them  follow  vermin  instead  of  sticking 
to  a  hare. ' ' 

The  squire,  being  informed  of  the  little  mischief 
that  had  been  done,  and  perhaps  having  more  mis- 
chief of  another  kind  in  his  head,  accosted  Mr. 
Adams  with  a  more  favorable  asi^ect  than  before : 
he  told  him  he  was  sorry  for  what  had  happened ; 
that  he  had  endeavored  all  he  could  to  prevent  it 
the  moment  he  was  acquainted  with  his  cloth,  and 
greatly  commended  the  courage  of  his  servant,  for 
so  he  imagined  Joseph  to  be.  He  then  invited 
Mr.  Adams  to  dinner,  and  desired  the  young 
woman  might  come  with  him.  Adams  refused 
a  long  while ;  but  the  invitation  was  repeated  with 
so  much  earnestness  and  courtesy,  that  at  length 
he  was  forced  to  accept  it.  His  wig  and  hat,  and 
other  spoils  of  the  field,  being  gathered  together 
by  Joseph  (for  otherwise  probably  they  would 
have  been  forgotten),  he  put  himself  into  the  best 
order  he  could ;  and  then  the  horse  and  foot  moved 
forward  in  the  same  pace  towards  the  squire's 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  117 

house,  which  stood  at  a  very  little  distance. 
Whilst  they  were  on  the  road  the  lovely  Fanny 
attracted  the  eyes  of  all :  they  endeavored  to  out- 
vie one  another  in  encomiums  on  her  beauty; 
which  the  reader  will  pardon  my  not  relating, 
as  they  had  not  anything  new  or  uncommon  in 
them :  so  must  he  likewise  my  not  setting  down 
the  many  curious  jests  which  were  made  on 
Adams ;  some  of  them  declaring  that  parson-hunt- 
ing was  the  best  sport  in  the  world ;  others  com- 
mending his  standing  at  bay,  which  they  said  he 
had  done  as  well  as  any  badger;  with  such  like 
merriment,  which,  though  it  would  ill  become  the 
dignity  of  this  history,  afforded  much  laughter 
and  diversion  to  the  squire  and  his  facetious  com- 
panions. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  scene  of  roasting,  very  nicely  adapted  to  the  present  taste 
and  times. 

THEY  arrived  at  the  squire's  house  just 
as  his  dinner  was  ready.  A  little  dis- 
pute arose  on  the  account  of  Fanny, 
whom  the  squire,  who  was  a  bachelor,  was  desirous 
to  place  at  his  own  table ;  but  she  would  not  con- 
sent, nor  would  Mr.  Adams  permit  her  to  be 
parted  from  Joseph;  so  that  she  was  at  length 
with  him  consigned  over  to  the  kitchen,  where 
the  servants  were  ordered  to  make  him  drunk;  a 
favor  which  was  likewise  intended  for  Adams; 
which  design  being  executed,  the  squire  thought 
he  should  easily  accomplish  what  he  had  when 
he  first  saw  her  intended  to  perpetrate  with 
Fanny. 

It  may  not  be  improper,  before  we  proceed 
farther,  to  open  a  little  the  character  of  this  gen- 
tleman, and  that  of  his  friends.  The  master  of 
this  house,  then,  was  a  man  of  a  very  considerable 
fortune;  a  bachelor,  as  we  have  said,  and  about 
forty  years  of  age:  he  had  been  educated  (if  we 
may  use  the  expression)  in  the  country,  and  at 
his  own  home,  under  the  care  of  his  mother,  and 
a  tutor  who  had  orders  never  to  correct  him,  nor 
to  compel  him  to  learn  more  than  he  liked,  which 
it  seems  was  very  little,  and  that  only  in  his  child- 

118 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  119 

hood;  for  from  the  age  of  fifteen  he  addicted 
himself  entirely  to  hunting  and  other  rural  amuse- 
ments, for  which  his  mother  took  care  to  equip 
him  with  horses,  hounds,  and  all  other  neces- 
saries; and  his  tutor,  endeavoring  to  ingratiate 
himself  with  his  young  pupil,  who  would,  he  knew, 
be  able  handsomely  to  provide  for  him,  became 
his  companion,  not  only  at  these  exercises,  but 
likewise  over  a  bottle,  which  the  young  squire  had 
a  very  early  relish  for.  At  the  age  of  twenty  his 
mother  began  to  think  she  had  not  fulfilled  the 
duty  of  a  parent;  she  therefore  resolved  to  per- 
suade her  son,  if  possible,  to  that  which  she  im- 
agined would  well  supply  all  that  he  might  have 
learned  at  a  public  school  or  university — this  is 
what  they  commonly  call  traveling;  which,  with 
the  help  of  the  tutor,  who  was  fixed  on  to  attend 
him,  she  easily  succeeded  in.  He  made  in  three 
years  the  tour  of  Europe,  as  they  term  it,  and 
returned  home  well  furnished  with  French  clothes, 
phrases,  and  servants,  with  a  hearty  contempt  for 
his  own  country;  especially  what  had  any  savor 
of  the  plain  spirit  and  honesty  of  our  ancestors. 
His  mother  greatly  applauded  herself  at  his  re- 
turn. And  now,  being  master  of  his  own  fortune, 
he  soon  procured  himself  a  seat  in  Parliament, 
and  was  in  the  common  opinion  one  of  the  finest 
gentlemen  of  his  age :  but  what  distinguished  him 
chiefly  was  a  strange  delight  which  he  took  in 
everything  which  is  ridiculous,  odious,  and  ab- 
surd in  his  own  species;  so  that  he  never  chose 
a  companion  without  one  or  more  of  these  in- 
gredients, and  those  who  were  marked  by  nature 


120  THE  HISTORY  OF 

in  the  most  eminent  degree  with  them  were  most 
his  favorites.  If  he  ever  found  a  man  who  either 
had  not,  or  endeavored  to  conceal,  these  im^Derfec- 
tions,  he  took  great  pleasure  in  inventing  methods 
of  forcing  him  into  absurdities  which  were  not 
natural  to  him,  or  in  drawing  forth  and  expos- 
ing those  that  were;  for  which  purpose  he  was 
always  provided  with  a  set  of  fellows,  whom  we 
have  before  called  curs,  and  who  did,  indeed,  no 
great  honor  to  the  canine  kind ;  their  business  was 
to  hunt  out  and  display  everything  that  had  any 
savor  of  the  above-mentioned  qualities,  and  es- 
pecially in  the  gravest  and  best  characters;  but 
if  they  failed  in  their  search,  they  were  to  turn 
even  virtue  and  wisdom  themselves  into  ridicule, 
for  the  diversion  of  their  master  and  feeder.  The 
gentlemen  of  curlike  disposition  who  were  now 
at  his  house,  and  whom  he  had  brought  with  him 
from  London,  were,  an  old  half-pay  officer,  a 
player,  a  dull  poet,  a  quack-doctor,  a  scraping 
fiddler,  and  a  lame  German  dancing-master. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  served,  while  Mr.  Adams 
was  saying  grace,  the  captain  conveyed  his  chair 
from  behind  him;  so  that  when  he  endeavored  to 
seat  himself  he  fell  down  on  the  ground,  and  this 
completed  joke  the  first,  to  the  great  entertain- 
ment of  the  whole  company.  The  second  joke 
was  performed  by  the  poet,  who  sat  next  him  on 
the  other  side,  and  took  an  opportunity,  while 
poor  Adams  was  respectfully  drinking  to  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  to  overturn  a  plate  of  soup  into 
his  breeches;  which,  with  the  many  apologies  he 
made,  and  the  parson's  gentle  answers,  caused 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  121 

much  mirth  in  the  company.  Joke  the  third  was 
served  up  by  one  of  the  waiting-men,  who  had 
been  ordered  to  convey  a  quantity  of  gin  into 
Mr.  Adams's  ale,  which  he  declaring  to  be  the 
best  liquor  he  ever  drank,  but  rather  too  rich  of 
the  malt,  contributed  again  to  their  laughter.  Mr. 
Adams,  from  whom  we  had  most  of  this  relation, 
could  not  recollect  all  the  jests  of  this  kind  prac- 
ticed on  him,  which  the  inoffensive  disposition 
of  his  own  heart  made  him  slow  in  discovering; 
and  indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  information 
which  we  received  from  a  servant  of  the  family, 
this  part  of  our  history,  which  we  take  to  be  none 
of  the  least  curious,  must  have  been  deplorably 
imperfect;  though  we  must  own  it  probable  that 
some  more  jokes  were  (as  they  call  it)  cracked 
during  their  dinner;  but  we  have  by  no  means 
been  able  to  come  at  the  knowledge  of  them. 
When  dinner  was  removed,  the  poet  began  to  re- 
peat some  verses,  which,  he  said,  were  made  ex- 
tempore. The  following  is  a  copy  of  them,  pro- 
cured with  the  greatest  difficulty : — 

An  extempore  Poem  on  Parson  Adamas. 

Did  ever  mortal  such  a  parson  view? 

His  cassock  old,  his  wig  not  over-new, 

Well  might  the  hounds  have  him  for  fox  mistaken, 

In  smell  more  like  to  that  than  rusty  bacon ;  ^ 

But  would  it  not  make  any  mortal  stare 

To  see  this  parson  taken  for  a  hai'e'? 

Could  Phoebus  err  thus  grossly,  even  he 

For  a  good  player  might  have  taken  thee. 

1  All  hounds  that  will  hunt  fox  or  other  vermin  will  himt  a 
piece  of  rusty  bacon  trailed  on  the  ground. 


122  THE  HISTORY  OF 

At  which  words  the  bard  whipped  off  the  play- 
er's wig,  and  received  the  approbation  of  the 
comi^any,  rather  perhaps  for  the  dexterity  of  his 
hand  than  his  head.  The  player,  instead  of  re- 
torting the  jest  on  the  poet,  began  to  display  his 
talents  on  the  same  subject.  He  repeated  many 
scraps  of  wit  out  of  plays,  reflecting  on  the  whole 
body  of  the  clergy,  which  were  received  with  great 
acclamations  by  all  present.  It  was  now  the 
dancing-master's  turn  to  exhibit  his  talents;  he 
therefore,  addressing  himself  to  Adams  in  broken 
English,  told  him,  ''He  was  a  man  ver  well  made 
for  de  dance,  and  he  suppose  by  his  walk  dat  he 
had  learn  of  some  great  master."  He  said,  ''It 
was  ver  pretty  quality  in  clergyman  to  dance;" 
and  concluded  with  desiring  him  to  dance  a  min- 
uet, telling  him,  "his  cassock  would  serve  for  pet- 
ticoats ;  and  that  he  would  himself  be  his  partner." 
At  which  words,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
he  pulled  out  his  gloves,  and  the  fiddler  was  pre- 
paring his  fiddle.  The  company  all  offered  the 
dancing-master  wagers  that  the  parson  out-danced 
him,  which  he  refused,  saying  "he  believed  so  too, 
for  he  had  never  seen  any  man  in  his  life  who 
looked  de  dance  so  well  as  de  gentleman:"  he  then 
stepped  forwards  to  take  Adams  by  the  hand, 
which  the  latter  hastily  withdrew,  and,  at  the 
same  time  clenching  his  fist,  advised  him  not  to 
carry  the  jest  too  far,  for  he  would  not  endure 
being  put  upon.  The  dancing-master  no  sooner 
saw  the  fist  than  he  prudently  retired  out  of  its 
reach,  and  stood  aloof,  mimicking  Adams,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  on  him,  not  guessing  what  he  was 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  123 

at,  but  to  avoid  his  laying  hold  on  him,  which 
he  had  once  attempted.  In  the  meanwhile,  the 
captain,  perceiving  an  opportunity,  pinned  a 
cracker  or  devil  to  the  cassock,  and  then  lighted 
it  with  their  little  smoking-candle.  Adams,  being 
a  stranger  to  this  sport,  and  believing  he  had 
been  blown  up  in  reality,  started  from  his  chair, 
and  jumped  about  the  room,  to  the  infinite  joy 
of  the  beholders,  who  declared  he  was  the  best 
dancer  in  the  universe.  As  soon  as  the  devil  had 
done  tormenting  him,  and  he  had  a  little  recovered 
his  confusion,  he  returned  to  the  table,  standing 
up  in  the  posture  of  one  who  intended  to  make  a 
speech.  They  all  cried  out,  "Hear  him,  hear 
him;"  and  he  then  spoke  in  the  following  man- 
ner :  ' '  Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  see  one  to  whom  Provi- 
dence hath  been  so  bountiful  in  bestowing  his  fa- 
vors make  so  ill  and  ungrateful  a  return  for  them ; 
for,  though  you  have  not  insulted  me  yourself,  it 
is  visible  you  have  delighted  in  those  that  do  it, 
nor  have  once  discouraged  the  many  rudenesses 
which  have  been  shown  towards  me;  indeed,  to- 
wards yourself,  if  you  rightly  understood  them; 
for  I  am  your  guest,  and  by  the  laws  of  hospi- 
tality entitled  to  your  protection.  One  gentleman 
had  thought  proper  to  produce  some  poetry  upon 
me,  of  which  I  shall  only  say,  that  I  had  rather  be 
the  subject  than  the  composer.  He  hath  pleased 
to  treat  me  with  disrespect  as  a  parson.  I  appre- 
hend my  order  is  not  the  subject  of  scorn,  nor 
that  I  can  become  so,  unless  by  being  a  disgrace 
to  it,  which  I  hope  poverty  will  never  be  called. 
Ajiother  gentleman,  indeed,  hath  repeated  some 


124  THE  HISTORY  OF 

sentences,  where  the  order  itself  is  mentioned 
with  contempt.  He  says  they  are  taken  from 
plays.  I  am  sure  such  plays  are  a  scandal  to 
the  government  which  permits  them,  and  cursed 
will  be  the  nation  where  they  are  represented. 
How  others  have  treated  me  I  need  not  observe ; 
they  themselves,  when  they  reflect,  must  allow  the 
behavior  to  be  as  improper  to  my  years  as  to  my 
cloth.  You  found  me,  sir,  traveling  with  two  of 
my  parishioners  (I  omit  your  hounds  falling  on 
me;  for  I  have  quite  forgiven  it,  whether  it  pro- 
ceeded from  the  wantonness  or  negligence  of  the 
huntsman) :  my  appearance  might  very  well  per- 
suade you  that  your  invitation  was  an  act  of 
charity,  though  in  reality  we  were  well  provided; 
yes,  sir,  if  we  had  had  an  hundred  miles  to  travel 
we  had  sufficient  to  bear  our  expenses  in  a  noble 
manner."  (At  which  words  he  produced  the  half- 
guinea  which  was  found  in  the  basket.)  "I  do 
not  show  you  this  out  of  ostentation  of  riches, 
but  to  convince  you  I  speak  truth.  Your  seating 
me  at  your  table  was  an  honor  which  I  did  not 
ambitiously  affect.  When  I  was  here,  I  endeav- 
ored to  behave  towards  you  with  the  utmost  re- 
spect; if  I  have  failed,  it  was  not  with  design; 
nor  could  I,  certainly,  so  far  be  guilty  as  to  de- 
serve the  insults  I  have  suffered.  If  they  were 
meant,  therefore,  either  to  my  order  or  my  pov- 
erty (and  you  see  I  am  not  very  poor),  the  shame 
doth  not  lie  at  my  door,  and  I  heartily  pray  that 
the  sin  may  be  averted  from  yours."  He  thus 
finished,  and  received  a  general  clap  from  the 
.whole  company.     Then  the  gentleman  of  the  house 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  125 

told  him,  ' '  He  was  sorry  for  what  had  happened ; 
that  he  could  not  accuse  him  of  any  share  in 
it;  that  the  verses  were,  as  himself  had  well  ob- 
served, so  bad,  that  he  might  easily  answer  them ; 
and  for  the  serpent,  it  was  undoubtedly  a  very 
great  affront  done  him  by  the  dancing-master,  for 
which,  if  he  well  thrashed  him,  as  he  deserved, 
he  should  be  very  much  pleased  to  see  it"  (in 
which,  probably,  he  spoke  truth).  Adams  an- 
swered, ^'Whoever  had  done  it,  it  was  not  his  pro- 
fession to  punish  him  that  way ;  but  for  the  person 
whom  he  had  accused,  I  am  a  witness,"  says  he, 
*'of  his  innocence;  for  I  had  my  eye  on  him  all 
the  while.  Whoever  he  was,  God  forgive  him, 
and  bestow  on  him  a  little  more  sense  as  well  as 
humanity."  The  captain  answered  with  a  surly 
look  and  accent,  ^ '  That  he  hoped  he  did  not  mean 
to  reflect  upon  him;  d — ^n  him,  he  had  as  much 
imanity  as  another,  and,  if  any  man  said  he  had 
not,  he  would  convince  him  of  his  mistake  by  cut- 
ting his  throat."  Adams,  smiling,  said,  "He  be- 
lieved he  had  spoke  right  by  accident. ' '  To  which 
the  captain  returned,  "What  do  you  mean  by  my 
speaking  right?  If  you  was  not  a  parson,  I  would 
not  take  these  words ;  but  your  gown  protects  you. 
If  any  man  who  wears  a  sword  had  said  so  much, 
I  had  pulled  him  by  the  nose  before  this. ' '  Adams 
replied,  "If  he  attempted  any  rudeness  to  his  per- 
son, he  would  not  find  any  protection  for  himself 
in  his  gown;"  and,  clenching  his  fist,  declared 
"he  had  thrashed  many  a  stouter  man."  The 
gentleman  did  all  he  could  to  encourage  this  war- 
like disposition  in  Adams,  and  was  in  hopes  to 


126  THE  HISTORY  OF 

have  produced  a  battle,  but  he  was  disappointed ; 
for  the  captain  made  no  other  answer  than,  "It  is 
very  well  you  are  a  parson;"  and  so,  drinking  off 
a  bumper  to  old  mother  Church,  ended  the  dis- 
pute. 

Then  the  doctor,  who  had  hitherto  been  silent, 
and  who  was  the  gravest  but  most  mischievous 
dog  of  all,  in  a  very  pompous  speech  highly  ap- 
plauded what  Adams  had  said,  and  as  much  dis- 
commended the  behavior  to  him.  He  proceeded 
to  encomiums  on  the  Church  and  poverty;  and, 
lastly,  recommended  forgiveness  of  what  had 
passed  to  Adams,  who  immediately  answered, 
"That  everything  was  forgiven;"  and  in  the 
warmth  of  his  goodness  he  filled  a  bumper  of 
strong  beer  (a  liquor  he  preferred  to  wine),  and 
drank  a  health  to  the  whole  company,  shaking 
the  captain  and  the  poet  heartily  by  the  hand, 
and  addressing  himself  with  great  respect  to  the 
doctor;  who,  indeed,  had  not  laughed  outwardly 
at  anything  that  passed,  as  he  had  a  perfect  com- 
mand of  his  muscles,  and  could  laugh  inwardly 
without  betraying  the  least  symptoms  in  his  coun- 
tenance. The  doctor  now  began  a  second  formal 
speech,  in  which  he  declaimed  against  all  levity  of 
conversation,  and  what  is  usually  called  mirth. 
He  said,  "There  were  amusements  fitted  for  per- 
sons of  all  ages  and  degrees,  from  the  rattle  to 
the  discussing  a  point  of  philosophy;  and  that 
men  discovered  themselves  in  nothing  more  than 
in  the  choice  of  their  amusements ;  for, ' '  says  he, 
"as  it  must  greatly  raise  our  expectation  of  the 
future  conduct  in  life  of  boys  whom  in  their  ten- 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  127 

der  years  we  perceive,  instead  of  taw  or  balls,  or 
other  childish  playthings,  to  choose,  at  their  lei- 
sure hours,  to  exercise  their  genius  in  conten- 
tions of  wit,  learning,  and  such  like;  so  must  it 
inspire  one  with  equal  contempt  of  a  man,  if  we 
should  discover  him  playing  at  taw  or  other 
childish  play."  Adams  highly  commended  the 
doctor's  opinion,  and  said,  "He  had  often  won- 
dered at  some  passages  in  ancient  authors,  where 
Scipio,  Lselius,  and  other  great  men  were  repre- 
sented to  have  passed  many  hours  in  amusements 
of  the  most  trifling  kind."  The  doctor  replied, 
**He  had  by  him  an  old  Greek  manuscript  where 
a  favorite  diversion  of  Socrates  was  recorded." 
*'Ay!"  says  the  parson  eagerly;  "I  should  be 
most  infinitely  obliged  to  you  for  the  favor  of 
perusing  it."  The  doctor  promised  to  send  it 
him,  and  farther  said,  ''That  he  believed  he  could 
describe  it.  I  think,"  says  he,  ''as  near  as  I  can 
remember,  it  was  this :  there  was  a  throne  erected, 
on  one  side  of  which  sat  a  king  and  on  the  other 
a  queen,  with  their  guards  and  attendants  ranged 
on  both  sides;  to  them  was  introduced  an  am- 
bassador, which  part  Socrates  always  used  to 
perform  himself;  and  when  he  was  led  up  to 
the  footsteps  of  the  throne  he  addressed  himself 
to  the  monarchs  in  some  grave  speech,  full  of 
yirtue,  and  goodness,  and  morality,  and  such  like. 
After  which,  he  was  seated  between  the  king  and 
queen,  and  royally  entertained.  This  I  think  was 
the  chief  part.  Perhaps  I  may  have  forgot  some 
particulars ;  for  it  is  long  since  I  read  it."  Adams 
said,  "It  was,  indeed,  a  diversion  worthy  the  re- 


128  THE  HISTORY  OF 

laxation  of  so  great  a  man;  and  thought  some- 
thing resembling  it  should  be  instituted  among 
our  great  men,  instead  of  cards  and  other  idle 
pastime,  in  which,  he  was  informed,  they  trifled 
away  too  much  of  their  lives."  He  added,  "The 
Christian  religion  was  a  nobler  subject  for  these 
speeches  than  any  Socrates  could  have  invented." 
The  gentleman  of  the  house  approved  what  Mr. 
Adams  said,  and  declared  *'he  was  resolved  to 
perform  the  ceremony  this  very  evening."  To 
which  the  doctor  objected,  as  no  one  was  prepared 
with  a  speech,  "unless,"  said  he  (turning  to 
Adams  with  a  gravity  of  countenance  which  would 
have  deceived  a  more  knowing  man),  "you  have 
a  sermon  about  you,  doctor."  "Sir,"  said 
Adams,  "I  never  travel  without  one,  for  fear  of 
what  may  happen."  He  was  easily  prevailed  on 
by  his  worthy  friend,  as  he  now  called  the  doctor, 
to  undertake  the  part  of  the  ambassador ;  so  that 
the  gentleman  sent  immediate  orders  to  have  the 
throne  erected,  which  was  performed  before  they 
had  drank  two  bottles;  and,  perhaps,  the  reader 
will  hereafter  have  no  great  reason  to  admire 
the  nimbleness  of  the  servants.  Indeed,  to  con- 
fess the  truth,  the  throne  was  no  more  than  this ; 
there  was  a  great  tub  of  water  provided,  on  each 
side  of  which  were  placed  two  stools  raised  higher 
than  the  surface  of  the  tub,  and  over  the  whole 
was  laid  a  blanket;  on  these  stools  were  placed 
the  king  and  queen,  namely,  the  master  of  the 
house  and  the  captain.  And  now  the  ambassa- 
dor was  introduced  between  the  poet  and  the  doc- 
tor; who,  having  read  his  sermon,  to  the  great 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  129 

entertainment  of  all  present,  was  led  up  to  his 
place  and  seated  between  their  majesties.  They 
immediately  rose  up,  when  the  blanket,  wanting 
its  supports  at  either  end,  gave  way,  and  soused 
Adams  over  head  and  ears  in  the  water.  The 
captain  made  his  escape,  but,  unluckily,  the  gen- 
tleman himself  not  being  as  nimble  as  he  ought, 
Adams  caught  hold  of  him  before  he  descended 
from  his  throne,  and  pulled  him  in  with  him,  to 
the  entire  secret  satisfaction  of  all  the  company. 
Adams,  after  ducking  the  squire  twice  or  thrice, 
leaped  out  of  the  tub,  and  looked  sharp  for  the 
doctor,  whom  he  would  certainly  have  conveyed 
to  the  same  place  of  honor;  but  he  had  wisely 
withdrawn:  he  then  searched  for  his  crabstick, 
and  having  found  that,  as  well  as  his  fellow  trav- 
elers, he  declared  he  would  not  stay  a  moment 
longer  in  such  a  house.  He  then  departed,  with- 
out taking  leave  of  his  host,  whom  he  had  exacted 
a  more  severe  revenge  on  than  he  intended;  for, 
as  he  did  not  use  sufficient  care  to  dry  himself  in 
time,  he  caught  a  cold  by  the  accident  which  threw 
him  into  a  fever  that  had  like  to  have  cost  him 
his  life. 


II— 9 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Which  some  readers  will  think  too  short  and  others  too  long. 

ADAMS,  and  Joseph,  who  was  no  less  en- 
raged than  his  friend  at  the  treatment  he 
met  with,  went  out  with  their  sticks  in 
their  hands,  and  carried  off  Fanny,  notwithstand- 
ing the  opposition  of  the  servants,  who  did  all, 
without  proceeding  to  violence,  in  their  power  to 
detain  them.  They  walked  as  fast  as  they  could, 
not  so  much  from  any  apprehension  of  being  pur- 
sued as  that  Mr.  Adams  might,  by  exercise,  pre- 
vent any  harm  from  the  water.  The  gentleman, 
who  had  given  such  orders  to  his  servants  con- 
cerning Fanny  that  he  did  not  in  the  least  fear 
her  getting  away,  no  sooner  heard  that  she  was 
gone,  than  he  began  to  rave,  and  immediately  dis- 
patched several  with  orders  either  to  bring  her 
back  or  never  return.  The  poet,  the  player,  and 
all  but  the  dancing-master  and  doctor,  went  on 
this  errand. 

The  night  was  very  dark  in  which  our  friends 
began  their  journey ;  however,  they  made  such  ex- 
pedition, that  they  soon  arrived  at  an  inn  which 
was  at  seven  miles'  distance.  Here  they  unan- 
imously consented  to  pass  the  evening,  Mr.  Adams 
being  now  as  dry  as  he  was  before  he  had  set 
out  on  his  embassy. 

This  inn,  which  indeed  we  might  call  an  ale- 

130 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  131 

house,  had  not  the  words,  The  New  Inn,  been  writ 
on  the  sign,  afforded  them  no  better  provision 
than  bread  and  cheese  and  ale ;  on  which,  however, 
they  made  a  very  comfortable  meal;  for  hunger 
is  better  than  a  French  cook. 

They  had  no  sooner  supped,  than  Adams,  re- 
turning thanks  to  the  Almighty  for  his  food,  de- 
clared he  had  eat  his  homely  commons  with  much 
greater  satisfaction  than  his  splendid  dinner ;  and 
expressed  great  contempt  for  the  folly  of  man- 
kind, who  sacrificed  their  hopes  of  heaven  to  the 
acquisition  of  vast  wealth,  since  so  much  com- 
fort was  to  be  found  in  the  humblest  state  and  the 
lowest  provision.  ''Very  true,  sir,"  says  a  grave 
man  who  sat  smoking  his  pipe  by  the  fire,  and 
who  was  a  traveler  as  well  as  himself.  "I  have 
often  been  as  much  surprised  as  you  are,  when 
I  consider  the  value  which  mankind  in  general  set 
on  riches,  since  every  day's  experience  shows  us 
how  little  is  in  their  power ;  for  what,  indeed,  truly 
desirable,  can  they  bestow  on  us?  Can  they  give 
beauty  to  the  deformed,  strength  to  the  weak,  or 
health  to  the  infirm?  Surely  if  they  could  we 
should  not  see  so  many  ill-favored  faces  haunting 
the  assemblies  of  the  great,  nor  would  such  num- 
bers of  feeble  wretches  languish  in  their  coaches 
and  palaces.  No,  not  the  wealth  of  a  kingdom  can 
purchase  any  paint  to  dress  pale  Ugliness  in  the 
bloom  of  that  young  maiden,  nor  any  drugs  to 
equip  Disease  with  the  vigor  of  that  young  man, 
Do  not  riches  bring  us  to  solicitude  instead  of  rest, 
envy  instead  of  affection,  and  danger  instead  of 
safety?    Can  they  prolong  their  own  possession, 


]32  THE  HISTORY  OF 

or  lengthen  his  days  who  enjoys  them!  So  far 
otherwise,  that  the  sloth,  the  luxury,  the  care 
which  attend  them,  shorten  the  lives  of  millions, 
and  bring  them  with  pain  and  misery  to  an  un- 
timely grave.  AVhere,  then,  is  their  value  if  they 
can  neither  embellish  nor  strengthen  our  forms, 
sweeten  nor  prolong  our  lives? — Again:  Can 
they  adorn  the  mind  more  than  the  body?  Do 
they  not  rather  swell  the  heart  with  vanity,  puff 
up  the  cheeks  with  pride,  shut  our  ears  to  every 
call  of  virtue,  and  our  bowels  to  every  motive  of 
compassion?"  ''Give  me  your  hand,  brother," 
said  Adams,  in  a  rapture,  "for  I  suppose  you  are 
a  clergyman." — "No,  truly,"  answered  the  other 
(indeed,  he  was  a  priest  of  the  Church  of  Rome; 
but  those  who  understand  our  laws  will  not  won- 
der he  was  not  over-ready  to  own  it). — "What- 
ever you  are,"  cries  Adams,  "you  have  spoken 
my  sentiments :  I  believe  I  have  preached  every 
syllable  of  your  speech  twenty  times  over;  for 
it  hath  always  appeared  to  me  easier  for  a  cable- 
rope  (which  by  the  way  is  the  true  rendering  of 
that  word  we  have  translated  camel)  to  go  through 
the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  get 
into  the  kingdom  of  heaven." — "That,  sir,"  said 
the  other,  "will  be  easily  granted  you  by  divines, 
and  is  deplorably  true ;  but  as  the  prospect  of  our 
good  at  a  distance  doth  not  so  forcibly  affect  us, 
it  might  be  of  some  service  to  mankind  to  be  made 
thoroughly  sensible — which  I  think  they  might  be 
with  very  little  serious  attention — that  even  the 
blessings  of  this  world  are  not  to  be  purchased 
with  riches;  a  doctrine,  in  my  opinion,  not  only 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  133 

metaphysically,  but,  if  I  may  so  say,  mathemat- 
ically demonstrable;  and  which  I  have  been  al- 
ways so  perfectly  convinced  of  that  I  have  a  con- 
tempt for  nothing  so  much  as  for  gold."  Adams 
now  began  a  long  discourse :  but  as  most  which  he 
said  occurs  among  many  authors  who  have  treated 
this  subject,  I  shall  omit  inserting  it.  During  its 
continuance  Joseph  and  Fanny  retired  to  rest,  and 
the  host  likewise  left  the  room.  When  the  Eng- 
lish parson  had  concluded,  the  Romish  resumed 
the  discourse,  which  he  continued  with  great  bit- 
terness and  invective;  and  at  last  ended  by  de- 
siring Adams  to  lend  him  eighteen-pence  to  pay 
his  reckoning;  promising,  if  he  never  paid  him, 
he  might  be  assured  of  his  prayers.  The  good 
man  answered  that  eighteen-pence  would  be  too 
little  to  carry  him  any  very  long  journey ;  that  he 
had  half  a  guinea  in  his  pocket,  which  he  would 
divide  with  him.  He  then  fell  to  searching  his 
pockets,  but  could  find  no  money;  for  indeed  the 
company  with  whom  he  dined  had  passed  one 
jest  upon  him  which  we  did  not  then  enumerate, 
and  had  picked  his  pocket  of  all  that  treasure 
which  he  had  so  ostentatiously  produced. 

*' Bless  me!"  cried  Adams,  '*I  have  certainly 
lost  it ;  I  can  never  have  spent  it.  Sir,  as  I  am  a 
Christian,  I  had  a  whole  half-guinea  in  my  pocket 
this  morning,  and  have  not  now  a  single  halfpenny 
of  it  left.  Sure  the  devil  must  have  taken  it  from 
me!" — ''Sir,"  answered  the  priest,  smiling,  "you 
need  make  no  excuses;  if  you  are  not  willing  to 
lend  me  the  money,  I  am  contented." — ''Sir," 
cries  Adams,  "if  I  had  the  greatest  sum  in  the 


134  THE  HISTORY  OF 

world — aye,  if  I  had  ten  pounds  about  me — I 
would  bestow  it  all  to  rescue  any  Christian  from 
distress.  I  am  more  vexed  at  my  loss  on  your 
account  than  my  own.  Was  ever  anything  so  un- 
lucky? Because  I  have  no  money  in  my  pocket 
I  shall  be  suspected  to  be  no  Christian." — "I  am 
more  unlucky,"  quoth  the  other,  *4f  you  are  as 
generous  as  you  say;  for  really  a  crown  would 
have  made  me  happy,  and  conveyed  me  in  plenty 
to  the  place  I  am  going,  which  is  not  above  twenty 
miles  off,  and  where  I  can  arrive  by  to-morrow 
night.  I  assure  you  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
travel  penniless.  I  am  but  just  arrived  in  Eng- 
land ;  and  we  were  forced  by  a  storm  in  our  pas- 
sage to  throw  all  we  had  overboard.  I  don't  sus- 
pect but  this  fellow  will  take  my  word  for  the 
trifle  I  owe  him ;  but  I  hate  to  appear  so  mean  as 
to  confess  myself  without  a  shilling  to  such  peo- 
ple ;  for  these,  and  indeed  too  many  others,  know 
little  difference  in  their  estimation  between  a  beg- 
gar and  a  thief. ' '  However,  he  thought  he  should 
deal  better  with  the  host  that  evening  than  the 
next  morning:  he  therefore  resolved  to  set  out 
immediately,  notwithstanding  the  darkness;  and 
accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  host  returned,  he  com- 
municated to  him  the  situation  of  his  affairs; 
upon  which  the  host,  scratching  his  head,  an- 
swered, "Why,  I  do  not  know,  master;  if  it  be  so, 
and  you  have  no  money,  I  must  trust,  I  think, 
though  I  had  rather  always  have  ready  money  if 
I  could ;  but,  marry,  you  look  like  so  honest  a  gen- 
tleman that  I  don't  fear  your  paying  me  if  it  was 
twenty  times  as  much."    The  priest  made  no  re- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  135 

ply,  but,  taking  leave  of  him  and  Adams  as  fast 
as  lie  could,  not  without  confusion,  and  perhaps 
with  some  distrust  of  Adams's  sincerity,  de- 
parted. 

He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  the  host  fell  a-shak- 
ing  his  head,  and  declared,  if  he  had  suspected  the 
fellow  had  no  money,  he  would  not  have  drawn 
him  a  single  drop  of  drink,  saying  he  despaired 
of  ever  seeing  his  face  again,  for  that  he  looked 
like  a  confounded  rogue.  "Rabbit  the  fellow," 
cries  he,  "I  thought,  by  his  talking  so  much  about 
riches,  that  he  had  a  hundred  pounds  at  least  in 
his  pocket. ' '  Adams  chid  him  for  his  suspicions, 
which,  he  said,  were  not  becoming  a  Christian; 
and  then,  without  reflecting  on  his  loss,  or  con- 
sidering how  he  himself  should  depart  in  the 
morning,  he  retired  to  a  very  homely  bed,  as  his 
companions  had  before;  however,  health  and  fa- 
tigue gave  them  a  sweeter  repose  than  is  often 
in  the  power  of  velvet  and  down  to  bestow. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Containing  as  surprising  and  bloody  adventures   as  can  be 
found  in  this  or  perhaps  any  other  authentic  history. 

IT  was  almost  morning  when  Joseph  Andrews, 
whose  eyes  the  thoughts  of  his  dear  Fanny- 
had  opened,  as  he  lay  fondly  meditating  on 
that  lovely  creature,  heard  a  violent  knocking  at 
the  door  over  which  he  lay.     He  presently  jumped 
out  of  bed,  and,  opening  the  window,  was  asked 
if  there  were  no  travelers  in  the  house?  and  pres- 
ently, by  another  voice,  if  two  men  and  a  woman 
had  not  taken  up  there  their  lodging  that  night? 
Though  he  knew  not  the  voices,  he  began  to  en- 
tertain a  suspicion  of  the  truth — for  indeed  he 
had  received  some  information  from  one  of  the 
servants  of  the  squire's  house  of  his  design — and 
answered  in  the  negative.     One  of  the  servants, 
who  knew  the  host  well,  called  out  to  him  by  his 
name  just  as  he  had  opened  another  window,  and 
asked  him  the  same  question;  to  which  he  an- 
swered in  the  affirmative.     0  ho!  said  another, 
have  we  found  you?  and  ordered  the  host  to  come 
down  and  open  his  door.     Fanny,  who  was  as 
wakeful  as  Joseph,  no  sooner  heard  all  this  than 
she  leaped  from  her  bed,  and,  hastily  putting 
on  her  gown  and  petticoats  ran  as  fast  as  possible 
to  Joseph's  room,  who  then  was  almost  dressed. 
He  immediately  let  her  in,  and,  embracing  her 

136 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  137 

with  the  most  passionate  tenderness,  bid  her  fear 
nothing,  for  he  would  die  in  her  defense.  "Is 
that  a  reason  why  I  should  not  fear,"  says  she, 
''when  I  should  lose  what  is  dearer  to  me  than  the 
whole  world?"  Joseph,  then  kissing  her  hand, 
said,  "He  could  almost  thank  the  occasion  which 
had  extorted  from  her  a  tenderness  she  would 
never  indulge  him  with  before."  He  then  ran 
and  waked  his  bedfellow  Adams,  who  was  yet  fast 
asleep,  notwithstanding  many  calls  from  Joseph ; 
but  was  no  sooner  made  sensible  of  their  danger 
than  he  leaped  from  his  bed,  without  considering 
the  presence  of  Fanny,  who  hastily  turned  her 
face  from  him,  and  enjoyed  a  double  benefit  from 
the  dark,  which,  as  it  would  have  prevented  any 
offense,  to  an  innocence  less  pure,  or  a  modesty 
less  delicate,  so  it  concealed  even  those  blushes 
which  were  raised  in  her. 

Adams  had  soon  put  on  all  his  clothes  but  his 
breeches,  which,  in  the  hurry,  he  forgot ;  however, 
they  were  pretty  well  supplied  by  the  length  of 
his  other  garments;  and  now,  the  house-door  be- 
ing opened,  the  captain,  the  poet,  the  player,  and 
three  servants  came  in.  The  captain  told  the  host 
that  two  fellows,  who  were  in  his  house,  had  run 
away  with  a  young  woman,  and  desired  to  know  in 
which  room  she  lay.  The  host,  who  presently  be- 
lieved the  story,  directed  them,  and  instantly  the 
captain  and  poet,  jostling  one  another,  ran  up.; 
The  poet,  who  was  the  nimblest,  entering  the 
chamber  first,  searched  the  bed,  and  every  other 
part,  but  to  no  purpose;  the  bird  was  flown,  as 
the  impatient  reader,  who  might  otherwise  have 


138  THE  HISTORY  OF 

been  in  pain  for  her,  was  before  advertised.  They 
then  inquired  where  the  men  lay,  and  were  ap- 
proaching the  chamber,  when  Joseph  roared  out, 
in  a  loud  voice,  that  he  would  shoot  the  first  man 
who  offered  to  attack  the  door.  The  captain  in- 
quired what  fire-arms  they  had ;  to  which  the  host 
answered,  he  believed  they  had  none ;  nay,  he  was 
almost  convinced  of  it,  for  he  had  heard  one  ask 
the  other  in  the  evening  what  they  should  have 
done  if  they  had  been  overtaken,  when  they  had  no 
arms;  to  which  the  other  answered,  they  would 
have  defended  themselves  with  their  sticks  as  long 
as  they  were  able,  and  God  would  assist  a  just 
cause.  This  satisfied  the  captain,  but  not  the 
poet,  who  prudently  retreated  downstairs,  saying, 
it  was  his  business  to  record  great  actions,  and  not 
to  do  them.  The  captain  was  no  sooner  well  sat- 
isfied that  there  were  no  fire-arms  than,  bidding 
defiance  to  gunpowder,  and  swearing  he  loved  the 
smell  of  it,  he  ordered  the  servants  to  follow  him, 
and,  marching  boldly  up,  immediately  attempted 
to  force  the  door,  which  the  servants  soon  helped 
him  to  accomplish.  When  it  was  opened,  they 
discovered  the  enemy  drawn  up  three  deep; 
Adams  in  the  front,  and  Fanny  in  the  rear.  The 
captain  told  Adams  that  if  they  would  go  all  back 
to  the  house  again  they  should  be  civilly  treated; 
but  unless  they  consented  he  had  orders  to  carry 
the  young  lady  with  him,  whom  there  was  great 
reason  to  believe  they  had  stolen  from  her  par- 
ents; for,  notwithstanding  her  disguise,  her  air, 
which  she  could  not  conceal,  sufficiently  discov- 
ered her  birth  to  be  infinitely  superior  to  theirs. 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  139 

Fanny,  bursting  into  tears,  solemnly  assured  him 
he  was  mistaken;  that  she  was  a  poor  helpless 
foundling,  and  had  no  relation  in  the  world  which 
she  knew  of;  and,  throwing  herself  on  her  knees, 
begged  that  he  would  not  attempt  to  take  her 
from  her  friends,  who,  she  was  convinced,  would 
die  before  they  would  lose  her;  which  Adams 
confirmed  with  words  not  far  from  amounting  to 
an  oath.     The  captain  swore  he  had  no  leisure  to 
talk,  and,  bidding  them  thank  themselves  for  what 
happened,  he  ordered  the  servants  to  fall  on,  at 
the  same  time  endeavoring  to  pass  by  Adams,  in 
order  to  lay  hold  on  Fanny;  but  the  parson,  in- 
terrupting him,  received  a  blow  from  one  of  them, 
which,  without  considering  whence  it  came,  he  re- 
turned to  the  captain,  and  gave  him  so  dexterous 
a  knock  in  that  part  of  the  stomach  which  is  vul- 
garly called  the  pit,  that  he  staggered  some  paces 
backwards.     The   captain,   who   was   not   accus- 
tomed to  this  kind  of  play,  and  who  wisely  appre- 
hended the  consequence  of  such  another  blow,  two 
of  them  seeming  to  him  equal  to  a  thrust  through 
the  body,  drew  forth  his  hanger,  as  Adams  ap- 
proached him,  and  was  leveling  a  blow  at  his  head, 
which  would  probably  have  silenced  the  preacher 
for  ever,  had  not  Joseph  in  that  instant  lifted  up 
a  certain  huge  stone  pot  of  the  chamber  with  one 
hand,  which  six  beaux  could  not  have  lifted  with 
both,  and  discharged  it,  together  with  the  con- 
tents, full  in  the  captain's  face.     The  uplifted 
hanger  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  he  fell  pros- 
trated on  the  floor  with  a  lumpish  noise,  and  his 
halfpence  rattled  in  his  pocket;  the  red  liquor 


140  THE  HISTORY  OF 

which  his  veins  contained,  and  the  white  liquor 
which  the  pot  contained,  ran  in  one  stream  down 
his  face  and  his  clothes.  Nor  had  Adams  quite 
escaped,  some  of  the  water  having  in  its  passage 
shed  its  honors  on  his  head,  and  began  to  trickle 
down  the  wrinkles  or  rather  furrows  of  his 
cheeks,  when  one  of  the  servants,  snatching  a  mop 
out  of  a  pail  of  water,  which  had  already  done 
its  duty  in  washing  the  house,  pushed  it  in  the 
parson's  face;  yet  could  not  he  bear  him  down, 
for  the  parson,  wresting  the  mop  from  the  fellow 
with  one  hand,  with  the  other  brought  his  enemy 
as  low  as  the  earth,  having  given  him  a  stroke 
over  that  part  of  the  face  where,  in  some  men 
of  pleasure,  the  natural  and  artificial  noses  are 
conjoined. 

Hitherto,  Fortune  seemed  to  incline  the  victory 
on  the  travelers'  side,  when,  according  to  her  cus- 
tom, she  began  to  show  the  fickleness  of  her  dis- 
position; for  now  the  host,  entering  the  field,  or 
rather  chamber  of  battle,  flew  directly  at  Joseph, 
and,  darting  his  head  into  his  stomach  (for  he 
was  a  stout  fellow  and  an  expert  boxer),  almost 
staggered  him :  but  Joseph,  stepping  one  leg  back, 
did  with  his  left  hand  so  chuck  him  under  the 
chin  that  he  reeled.  The  youth  was  pursuing  his 
blow  with  his  right  hand  when  he  received  from 
one  of  the  servants  such  a  stroke  with  a  cudgel 
on  his  temples,  that  it  instantly  deprived  him  of 
sense,  and  he  measured  his  length  on  the  ground. 

Fanny  rent  the  air  with  her  cries,  and  Adams 
was  coming  to  the  assistance  of  Joseph;  but  the 
two  serving-men  and  the  host  now  fell  on  him, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  141 

and  soon  subdued  liim,  though  he  fought  like  a 
madman,  and  looked  so  black  with  the  impressions 
he  had  received  from  the  mop,  that  Don  Quixote 
would  certainly  have  taken  him  for  an  enchanted 
Moor.  But  now  follows  the  most  tragical  part; 
for  the  captain  was  risen  again,  and,  seeing 
Joseph  on  the  floor,  and  Adams  secured,  he  in- 
stantly laid  hold  on  Fanny,  and,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  the  poet  and  player,  who,  hearing  the 
battle  was  over,  were  now  come  up,  dragged  her, 
crying  and  tearing  her  hair,  from  the  sight  of 
her  Joseph,  and,  with  a  perfect  deafness  to  all  her 
entreaties,  carried  her  downstairs  by  violence,  and 
fastened  her  on  the  player's  horse;  and  the  cap- 
tain, mounting  his  own,  and  leading  that  on  which 
this  poor  miserable  wretch  was,  departed,  without 
any  more  consideration  of  her  cries  than  a  butcher 
hath  of  those  of  a  lamb;  for  indeed  his  thoughts 
were  entertained  only  with  the  degree  of  favor 
which  he  promised  himself  from  the  squire  on  the 
success  of  this  adventure. 

The  servants,  who  were  ordered  to  secure 
Adams  and  Joseph  as  safe  as  possible,  that  the 
squire  might  receive  no  interruption  to  his  design 
on  poor  Fanny,  immediately,  by  the  poet's  advice, 
tied  Adams  to  one  of  the  bed-posts,  as  they  did 
Joseph  on  the  other  side,  as  soon  as  they  could 
bring  him  to  himself;  and  then,  leaving  them  to- 
gether, back  to  back,  and  desiring  the  host  not  to 
set  them  at  liberty,  nor  to  go  near  them,  till  he 
had  further  orders,  they  departed  towards  their 
master;  but  happened  to  take  a  different  road 
from  that  which  the  captain  had  fallen  into, 


CHAPTER  X 

A   discourse  between  the  poet  and  the  player;  of  no  other 
use  in  this  histoiy  but  to  divert  the  reader. 

BEFORE  we  proceed  any  farther  in  this 
tragedy  we  shall  leave  Mr.  Joseph  and  Mr. 
Adams  to  themselves,  and  imitate  the 
wise  conductors  of  the  stage,  who  in  the  midst 
of  a  grave  action  entertain  you  with  some  excel- 
lent piece  of  satire  or  humor  called  a  dance. 
[Which  piece,  indeed,  is  therefore  danced,  and  not 
spoke,  as  it  is  delivered  to  the  audience  by  per- 
sons whose  thinking  faculty  is  by  most  people 
held  to  lie  in  their  heels;  and  to  whom,  as  well 
as  heroes,  who  think  with  their  hands,  Nature  hath 
only  given  heads  for  the  sake  of  conformity,  and 
as  they  are  of  use  in  dancing,  to  hang  their  hats 
on. 

The  poet,  addressing  the  player,  proceeded  thus, 
''As  I  was  saying"  (for  they  had  been  at  this 
discourse  all  the  time  of  the  engagement  above- 
stairs),  "the  reason  you  have  no  good  new  plays 
is  evident ;  it  is  from  your  discouragement  of  au- 
thors. Gentlemen  will  not  write,  sir,  they  will 
not  write,  without  the  expectation  of  fame  or 
profit,  or  perhaps  both.  Plays  are  like  trees, 
which  will  not  grow  without  nourishment ;  but  like 
mushrooms,  they  shoot  up  spontaneously,  as  it 
were,  in  a  rich  soil.     The  muses,  like  vines,  may 

142 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  143 

be  pruned,  but  not  with  a  hatchet.  The  town,  like 
a  peevish  child,  knows  not  what  it  desires,  and  is 
always  best  pleased  with  a  rattle.  A  farce-writer 
hath  indeed  some  chance  for  success:  but  they 
have  lost  all  taste  for  the  sublime.  Though  I  be- 
lieve one  reason  of  their  depravity  is  the  badness 
of  the  actors.  If  a  man  writes  like  an  angel,  sir, 
those  fellows  know  not  how  to  give  a  sentiment 
utterance." — ''Not  so  fast,"  says  the  player: 
''the  modern  actors  are  as  good  at  least  as  their 
authors,  nay,  they  come  nearer  their  illustrious 
predecessors;  and  I  expect  a  Booth  on  the  stage 
again,  sooner  than  a  Shakespeare  or  an  Otway; 
and  indeed  I  may  turn  your  observation  against 
you,  and  with  truth  say,  that  the  reason  no 
authors  are  encouraged  is  because  we  have  no 
good  new  plays." — "I  have  not  affirmed  the  con- 
trary," said  the  poet;  "but  I  am  surprised  you 
grow  so  warm;  you  cannot  imagine  yourself  in- 
terested in  this  dispute ;  I  hope  you  have  a  better 
opinion  of  my  taste  than  to  apprehend  I  squinted 
at  yourself.  No,  sir,  if  we  had  six  such  actors 
as  you,  we  should  soon  rival  the  Bettertons  and 
Sandfords  of  former  times;  for,  without  a  com- 
pliment to  you,  I  think  it  impossible  for  any  one 
to  have  excelled  you  in  most  of  your  parts.  Nay, 
it  is  solemn  truth,  and  I  have  heard  many,  and 
all  great  judges,  express  as  much;  and,  you  will 
pardon  me  if  I  tell  you,  I  think  every  time  I  have 
seen  you  lately  you  have  constantly  acquired  some 
new  excellence,  like  a  snow-ball.  You  have  de- 
ceived me  in  my  estimation  of  perfection,  and 
have  outdone  what  I  thought  inimitable." — "You 


144  THE  HISTORY  OF 

are  as  little  interested,"  answered  the  player, 
*'in  what  I  have  said  of  other  poets;  for  d — n  me 
if  there  are  not  many  strokes,  ay,  whole  scenes, 
in  your  last  tragedy,  which  at  least  equal  Shake- 
speare. There  is  a  delicacy  of  sentiment,  a  dignity 
of  expression  in  it,  which  I  will  own  many  of  our 
gentlemen  did  not  do  adequate  justice  to.  To 
confess  the  truth,  they  are  bad  enough,  and  I  pity 
an  author  who  is  present  at  the  murder  of  his 
works." — ''Nay,  it  is  but  seldom  that  it  can  hap- 
pen," returned  the  poet ;  "the  works  of  most  mod- 
ern authors,  like  dead-born  children,  cannot  be 
murdered.  It  is  such  wretched  half-begotten, 
half-writ,  lifeless,  spiritless,  low,  groveling  stuff, 
that  I  almost  pity  the  actor  who  is  obliged  to  get 
it  by  heart,  which  must  be  almost  as  difficult  to 
remember  as  words  in  a  language  you  don't  un- 
derstand."— "I  am  sure,"  said  the  player,  "if 
the  sentences  have  little  meaning  when  they  are 
writ,  when  they  are  spoken  they  have  less.  I 
know  scarce  one  who  ever  lays  an  emphasis  right, 
and  much  less  adapts  his  action  to  his  character. 
I  have  seen  a  tender  lover  in  an  attitude  of  fight- 
ing with  his  mistress,  and  a  brave  hero  suing  to 
his  enemy  with  his  sword  in  his  hand.  I  don't 
care  to  abuse  my  jDrofession,  but  rot  me  if  in  my 
heart  I  am  not  inclined  to  the  poet's  side." — "It 
is  rather  generous  in  you  than  just,"  said  the 
poet;  "and,  though  I  hate  to  speak  ill  of  any  per- 
son's production — nay,  I  never  do  it,  nor  will — 
but  yet,  to  do  justice  to  the  actors,  what  could 
Booth  or  Betterton  have  made  of  such  horrible 
stuff  as  Fenton's  Mariamne,  Frowd's  Philotas,  or 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  145 

Mallet's  Eurydice;  or  those  low,  dirty,  last-dying- 
speeches,  which  a  fellow  in  the  city  of  Wapping, 
your  Dillo  or  Lillo,  what  was  his  name,  called 
tragedies?" — "Very  well,"  says  the  player; 
*'and  pray  what  do  you  think  of  such  fellows  as 
Quin  and  Delane,  or  that  face-making  puppy 
young  Gibber,  that  ill-looked  dog  Macklin,  or  that 
saucy  slut  Mrs.  Clive?  What  work  would  they 
make  with  your  Shakesj^eares,  Otways,  and  Lees? 
How  would  those  harmonious  lines  of  the  last 
come  from  their  tongues? — 

* No  more;  for  I  disdain 


All  pomp  when  thou  art  by :  far  be  the  noise 
Of  kings  and  crowns  fx-om  us,  whose  gentle  souls 
Our  kinder  fates  have  steer'd  another  way. 
Free  as  the  forest  birds  we'll  pair  together, 
Without  rememb'ring  who  our  fathers  were: 
Fly  to  the  arbors,  grots,  and  flow'ry  meads; 
There  in  soft  mui'murs  interchange  our  souls; 
Together  drink  the  crystal  of  the  stream, 
Or  taste  the  yellow  fruit  which  autumn  yields, 
And,  when  the  golden  evening  calls  us  home. 
Wing  to  our  downy  nests,  and  sleep  till  mom/ 

Or  how  would  this  disdain  of  Otway — 

'Who'd  be  that  foolish  sordid  thing  eall'd  man?'" 

' '  Hold !  hold !  hold ! ' '  said  the  poet :  ' '  Do  repeat 
that  tender  speech  in  the  third  act  of  my  play 
which  you  made  such  a  figure  in." — "I  would 
willingly,"  said  the  player,  ''but  I  have  forgot 
it." — ''Ay,  you  was  not  quite  perfect  in  it  when 
you  played  it,"  cries  the  poet,  "or  you  would 
have  had  such  an  applause  as  was  never  given  on 

11—10 


146  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  stage ;  an  applause  I  was  extremely  concerned 
for  your  losing." — ''Sure,"  says  the  player,  "if 
I  remember,  that  was  hissed  more  than  any 
passage  in  the  whole  play." — "Ay,  your  speaking 
it  was  hissed,"  said  the  poet. — "My  speaking  it!" 
said  the  player. — "I  mean  your  not  speaking  it," 
said  the  poet.  "You  was  out,  and  then  they 
hissed." — "They  hissed,  and  then  I  was  out,  if  I 
remember,"  answered  the  player;  "and  I  must 
say  this  for  myself,  that  the  whole  audience  al- 
lowed I  did  your  part  justice;  so  don't  lay  the 
damnation  of  your  play  to  my  account." — "I 
don't  know  what  you  mean  by  damnation,"  re- 
plied the  poet. — "Why,  you  know  it  was  acted  but 
one  night,"  cried  the  player.  "No,"  said  the 
poet,  "you  and  the  whole  town  were  enemies;  the 
pit  were  all  my  enemies,  fellows  that  would  cut 
my  throat,  if  the  fear  of  hanging  did  not  restrain 
them.  All  tailors,  sir,  all  tailors." — "Why 
should  the  tailors  be  so  angry  with  you?"  cries 
the  player.  "I  suppose  you  don't  employ  so 
many  in  making  your  clothes." — "I  admit  your 
jest,"  answered  the  poet;  "but  you  remember  the 
affair  as  well  as  myself;  you  know  there  was  a 
party  in  the  pit  and  upper  gallery  that  would  not 
suffer  it  to  be  given  out  again;  though  much,  ay 
infinitely,  the  majority,  all  the  boxes  in  particu- 
lar, were  desirous  of  it;  nay,  most  of  the  ladies 
swore  they  never  would  come  to  the  house  till  it 
was  acted  again.  Indeed,  I  must  own  their  policy 
was  good  in  not  letting  it  be  given  out  a  second 
time :  for  the  rascals  knew  if  it  had  gone  a  second 
night  it  would  have  run  fifty;  for  if  ever  there 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  147 

was  distress  in  a  tragedy — I  am  not  fond  of  my 
own  performance;  but  if  I  should  tell  you  what 

the  best  judges  said  of  it Nor  was  it  entirely 

owing  to  my  enemies  neither  that  it  did  not  suc- 
ceed on  the  stage  as  well  as  it  hath  since  among 
the  polite  readers ;  for  you  can't  say  it  had  justice 
done  it  by  the  performers." — ''I  think,"  answered 
the  player,  ''the  performers  did  the  distress  of  it 
justice ;  for  I  am  sure  we  were  in  distress  enough, 
who  were  pelted  with  oranges  all  the  last  act :  we 
all  imagined  it  would  have  been  the  last  act  of  our 
lives." 

The  poet,  whose  fury  was  now  raised,  had  just 
attemjoted  to  answer  when  they  were  interrupted, 
and  an  end  put  to  their  discourse,  by  an  accident, 
which  if  the  reader  is  impatient  to  know,  he  must 
skip  over  the  next  chapter,  which  is  a  sort  of  coun- 
terpart to  this,  and  contains  some  of  the  best  and 
gravest  matters  in  the  whole  book,  being  a  dis- 
course between  parson  Abraham  Adams  and  Mr. 
Joseph  Andrews. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Containing  the  exhortations  of  parson  Adams  to  his  friend  in 
aflQiction;  calculated  for  the  instruction  and  improvement 
of  the  reader. 

JOSEPH  no  sooner  came  perfectly  to  himself 
than,  perceiving  his  mistress  gone,  he  be- 
wailed her  loss  with  groans  which  would 
have  pierced  any  heart  but  those  which  are  pos- 
sessed by  some  people,  and  are  made  of  a  certain 
composition  not  unlike  flint  in  its  hardness  and 
other  properties;  for  you  may  strike  fire  from 
them,  which  will  dart  through  the  eyes,  but  they 
can  never  distill  one  drop  of  water  the  same  way. 
His  own,  poor  youth !  was  of  a  softer  composition ; 
and  at  those  words,  **0  my  dear  Fanny!  0  my 
love!  shall  I  never,  never  see  thee  more?"  his  eyes 
overflowed  with  tears,  which  would  have  become 
any  but  a  hero.  In  a  word,  his  despair  was  more 
easy  to  be  conceived  than  related. 

Mr.  Adams,  after  many  groans,  sitting  with  his 
back  to  Joseph,  began  thus  in  a  sorrowful  tone: 
*'You  cannot  imagine,  my  good  child,  that  I  en- 
tirely blame  these  first  agonies  of  j^our  grief;  for, 
when  misfortunes  attack  us  by  surprise,  it  must 
require  infinitely  more  learning  than  you  are  mas- 
ter of  to  resist  them;  but  it  is  the  business  of  a 
man  and  a  Christian  to  summon  Reason  as  quickly 
as  he  can  to  his  aid;  and  she  will  presently  teach 

148 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  149 

liim  patience  and  submission.  Be  comforted, 
therefore,  child;  I  say  be  comforted.  It  is  true, 
you  have  lost  the  prettiest,  kindest,  loveliest, 
sweetest  young  woman,  one  with  whom  you  might 
have  expected  to  have  lived  in  happiness,  virtue, 
and  innocence ;  by  whom  you  might  have  promised 
yourself  many  little  darlings,  who  would  have 
been  the  delight  of  your  youth  and  the  comfort 
of  your  age.  You  have  not  only  lost  her,  but 
have  reason  to  fear  the  utmost  violence  which 
lust  and  power  can  inflict  upon  her.  Now,  indeed, 
you  may  easily  raise  ideas  of  horror,  which  might 
drive  you  to  despair." — "0  I  shall  run  mad!" 
cries  Joseph.  '*0  that  I  could  but  command  my 
hands  to  tear  my  eyes  out  and  my  flesh  off!" — 
"If  you  would  use  them  to  such  purposes,  I  am 
glad  you  can't,"  answered  Adams.  "I  have 
stated  your  misfortune  as  strong  as  I  possibly 
can;  but,  on  the  other  side,  you  are  to  consider 
you  are  a  Christian,  that  no  accident  happens  to 
us  without  the  Divine  permission,  and  that  it  is 
the  duty  of  a  man,  and  a  Christian,  to  submit. 
We  did  not  make  ourselves;  but  the  same  power 
which  made  us  rules  over  us,  and  we  are  abso- 
lutely at  his  disposal;  he  may  do  with  us  what  he 
pleases,  nor  have  we  any  right  to  complain.  A 
second  reason  against  our  complaint  is  our  ig- 
norance; for,  as  we  know  not  future  events,  so 
neither  can  we  tell  to  what  purpose  any  accident 
tends;  and  that  which  at  first  threatens  us  with 
evil  may  in  the  end  produce  our  good.  I  should 
indeed  have  said  our  ignorance  is  two-fold  (but  I 
have  not  at  present  time  to  divide  properly),  for, 


150  THE  HISTORY  OF. 

as  we  know  not  to  what  purpose  any  event  is  ulti- 
mately directed,  so  neither  can  we  affirm  from 
what  cause  it  originally  sprung.  You  are  a  man, 
and  consequently  a  sinner ;  and  this  may  be  a  pun- 
ishment to  you  for  your  sins :  indeed  in  this  sense 
it  may  be  esteemed  as  a  good,  yea,  as  the  greatest 
good,  which  satisfies  the  anger  of  Heaven,  and 
averts  that  wrath  which  cannot  continue  without 
our  destruction.  Thirdly,  our  impotency  of  re- 
lieving ourselves  demonstrates  the  folly  and  ab- 
surdity of  our  complaints :  for  whom  do  we  resist, 
or  against  whom  do  we  complain,  but  a  power  from 
whose  shafts  no  armor  can  guard  us,  no  speed 
can  fly? — a  power  which  leaves  us  no  hope  but  in 
submission."  "0  sir!"  cried  Joseph,  ''all  this  is 
very  true,  and  very  fine,  and  I  could  hear  you  all 
day  if  I  was  not  so  grieved  at  heart  as  now  I  am." 
— "Would  you  take  physic,"  says  Adams,  "when 
you  are  well,  and  refuse  it  when  you  are  sick? 
Is  not  comfort  to  be  administered  to  the  afflicted, 
and  not  to  those  who  rejoice  or  those  who  are  at 
easel"  "01  you  have  not  spoken  one  word  of 
comfort  to  me  yet!"  returned  Joseph.  "No!" 
cries  Adams;  "what  am  I  then  doing?  what  can 
I  say  to  comfort  you?"  "0  tell  me,"  cries 
Joseph,  "that  Fanny  will  escape  back  to  my  arms, 
that  they  shall  again  enclose  that  lovely  creature, 
with  all  her  sweetness,  all  her  untainted  innocence 
about  her!"  "Why,  perhaps  you  may,"  cries 
Adams,  "but  I  can't  promise  you  what's  to  come. 
You  must,  with  perfect  resignation,  wait  the 
event ;  if  she  be  restored  to  you  again,  it  is  your 
duty  to  be  thankful,  and  so  it  is  if  she  be  not. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  151 

Joseph,  if  you  are  wise  and  truly  know  your  own 
interest,  you  will  peaceably  and  quietly  submit  to 
all  the  dispensations  of  Providence,  being  thor- 
oughly assured  that  all  the  misfortunes,  how  great 
soever,  which  happen  to  the  righteous,  happen  to 
them  for  their  own  good.  Nay,  it  is  not  your  in- 
terest only,  but  your  duty,  to  abstain  from  im- 
moderate grief ;  which  if  you  indulge,  you  are  not 
worthy  the  name  of  a  Christian. ' '  He  spoke  these 
last  words  with  an  accent  a  little  severer  than 
usual;  upon  which  Joseph  begged  him  not  to  be 
angry,  saying,  he  mistook  him  if  he  thought  he 
denied  it  was  his  duty,  for  he  had  known  that 
long  ago.  ''What  signifies  knowing  your  duty,  if 
you  do  not  perform  it?"  answered  Adams. 
''Your  knowledge  increases  your  guilt.  O 
Joseph!  I  never  thought  you  had  this  stubborn- 
ness in  your  mind. ' '  Joseph  replied, ' '  He  fancied 
he  misunderstood  him;  which  I  assure  you,"  says 
he,  "you  do,  if  you  imagine  I  endeavor  to  grieve; 
upon  my  soul  I  don't."  Adams  rebuked  him  for 
swearing,  and  then  proceeded  to  enlarge  on  the 
folly  of  grief,  telling  him,  all  the  wise  men  and 
philosophers,  even  among  the  heathens,  had  writ- 
ten against  it,  quoting  several  passages  from  Sen- 
eca, and  the  Consolation,  which,  though  it  was 
not  Cicero's,  was,  he  said,  as  good  almost  as  any 
of  his  works;  and  concluded  all  by  hinting  that 
immoderate  grief  in  this  case  might  incense  that 
power  which  alone  could  restore  him  his  Fanny. 
This  reason,  or  indeed  rather  the  idea  which  it 
raised  of  the  restoration  of  his  mistress,  had  more 
effect  than  all  which  the  parson  had  said  before, 


152  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

and  for  a  moment  abated  his  agonies;  but,  wlien 
his  fears  sufficiently  set  before  his  eyes  the  dan- 
ger that  poor  creature  was  in,  his  grief  returned 
again  with  repeated  violence,  nor  could  Adams  in 
the  least  assuage  it;  though  it  may  be  doubted 
in  his  behalf  whether  Socrates  himself  could  have 
prevailed  any  better. 

They  remained  some  time  in  silence,  and  groans 
and  sighs  issued  from  them  both ;  at  length  Joseph 
burst  out  into  the  following  soliloquy : — 

"Yes,  I  will  bear  my  sorrows  like  a  man, 
But  I  must  also  feel  them  as  a  man. 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 
And  were  most  dear  to  me." 

Adams  asked  him  what  stuff  that  was  he  re- 
peated? To  which  he  answered,  they  were  some 
lines  he  had  gotten  by  heart  out  of  a  play.  * '  Ay, 
there  is  nothing  but  heathenism  to  be  learned 
from  plays,"  replied  he.  "I  never  heard  of  any 
plays  fit  for  a  Christian  to  read,  but  Cato  and 
the  Conscious  Lovers;  and,  I  must  own,  in  the 
latter  there  are  some  things  almost  solemn  enough 
for  a  sermon,"  But  we  shall  now  leave  them  a 
little,  and  inquire  after  the  subject  of  their  con- 
versation. 


CHAPTER  XII 

More  adventures,  which  we  hope  will  as  much  please  as  sur- 
prise the  reader. 

NEITHER  the  facetious  dialogue  which 
passed  between  the  poet  and  tlie  player, 
nor  the  grave  and  truly  solemn  dis- 
course of  Mr.  Adams,  will,  we  conceive,  make  the 
reader  sufficient  amends  for  the  anxiety  which  he 
must  have  felt  on  the  account  of  poor  Fanny, 
whom  we  left  in  so  deplorable  a  condition.  We 
shall  therefore  now  proceed  to  the  relation  of  what 
happened  to  that  beautiful  and  innocent  virgin, 
after  she  fell  into  the  wicked  hands  of  the  cap- 
tain. 

The  man  of  war,  having  conveyed  his  charming 
prize  out  of  the  inn  a  little  before  day,  made  the 
utmost  expedition  in  his  power  towards  the 
squire's  house,  where  this  delicate  creature  was 
to  be  offered  up  a  sacrifice  to  the  lust  of  a  ravish- 
er.  He  was  not  only  deaf  to  all  her  bewailings 
and  entreaties  on  the  road,  but  accosted  her  ears 
with  impurities  which,  having  been  never  before 
accustomed  to  them,  she  happily  for  herself  very 
little  understood.  At  last  he  changed  his  note, 
and  attempted  to  soothe  and  mollify  her,  by  set- 
ting forth  the  splendor  and  luxury  which  would 
be  her  fortune  with  a  man  who  would  have  the 
inclination,  and  power  too,  to  give  her  whatever 

153 


154  THE  HISTORY  OF 

lier  utmost  wishes  could  desire;  and  told  her  he 
doubted  not  but  she  would  soon  look  kinder  on 
him,  as  the  instrument  of  her  happiness,  and 
despise  that  pitiful  fellow  whom  her  ignorance 
only  could  make  her  fond  of.  She  answered,  she 
knew  not  whom  he  meant ;  she  never  was  fond  of 
any  pitiful  fellow.  ' '  Are  you  affronted,  madam, ' ' 
says  he,  ''at  my  calling  him  so?  But  what  better 
can  be  said  of  one  in  a  livery,  notwithstanding 
your  fondness  for  him?"  She  returned,  that  she 
did  not  understand  him,  that  the  man  had  been  her 
fellow-servant,  and  she  believed  was  as  honest  a 
creature  as  any  alive;  but  as  for  fondness  for 
men — ''I  warrant  ye,"  cries  the  captain,  ''we 
shall  find  means  to  persuade  you  to  be  fond ;  and 
I  advise  you  to  yield  to  gentle  ones,  for  you  may 
be  assured  that  it  is  not  in  your  power,  by  any 
struggles  whatever,  to  preserve  your  virginity 
two  hours  longer.  It  will  be  your  interest  to  con- 
sent ;  for  the  squire  will  be  much  kinder  to  you  if 
he  enjoys  you  willingly  than  by  force."  At 
which  words  she  began  to  call  aloud  for  assistance 
(for  it  was  now  open  day),  but,  finding  none,  she 
lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  supplicated  the 
Divine  assistance  to  preserve  her  innocence.  The 
captain  told  her,  if  she  persisted  in  her  vocifera- 
tion, he  would  find  a  means  of  stopping  her  mouth. 
And  now  the  poor  wretch,  perceiving  no  hopes 
of  succor,  abandoned  herself  to  despair,  and,  sigh- 
ing out  the  name  of  Joseph!  Joseph!  a  river  of 
tears  ran  down  her  lovely  cheeks,  and  wet  the 
handkerchief  which  covered  her  bosom.  A  horse- 
man now  appeared  in  the  road,  upon  which  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  155 

captain  threatened  her  violently  if  she  com- 
plained; however,  the  moment  they  approached 
each  other  she  begged  him  with  the  utmost  ear- 
nestness to  relieve  a  distressed  creature  who  was 
in  the  hands  of  a  ravisher.  The  fellow  stopped 
at  those  words,  but  the  captain  assured  him  it 
was  his  wife,  and  that  he  was  carrying  her  home 
from  her  adulterer,  which  so  satisfied  the  fellow, 
who  was  an  old  one  (and  perhaps  a  married  one 
too),  that  he  wished  him  a  good  journey,  and 
rode  on.  He  was  no  sooner  passed  than  the  cap- 
tain abused  her  violently  for  breaking  his  com- 
mands, and  threatened  to  gag  her,  when  two 
more  horsemen,  armed  with  pistols,  came  into 
the  road  just  before  them.  She  again  solicited 
their  assistance,  and  the  captain  told  the  same 
story  as  before.  Upon  which  one  said  to  the 
other,  "That's  a  charming  wench.  Jack;  I  wish 
I  had  been  in  the  fellow's  place,  whoever  he  is." 
But  the  other,  instead  of  answering  him,  cried 
out,  "Zounds,  I  know  her;"  and  then  turning 
to  her,  said,  "Sure  you  are  not  Fanny  Good- 
will?"— "Indeed,  indeed,  I  am,"  she  cried — "0 
John,  I  know  you  now — Heaven  hath  sent  you  to 
my  assistance,  to  deliver  me  from  this  wicked 
man,  who  is  carrying  me  away  for  his  vile  pur- 
poses— 0  for  God's  sake  rescue  me  from  him!" 
A  fierce  dialogue  immediately  ensued  between 
the  captain  and  these  two  men,  who,  being  both 
armed  with  pistols,  and  the  chariot  which  they 
attended  being  now  arrived,  the  captain  saw  both 
force  and  stratagem  were  vain,  and  endeavored 
to  make  his  escape,  in  which  however  he  could 


156  THE  HISTORY  OF 

not  succeed.  The  gentleman  who  rode  in  the 
chariot  ordered  it  to  stop,  and  with  an  air  of 
authority  examined  into  the  merits  of  the  cause; 
of  which  being  advertised  by  Fanny,  whose  credit 
was  confirmed  by  the  fellow  who  knew  her,  he 
ordered  the  captain,  who  was  all  bloody  from 
his  encounter  at  the  inn,  to  be  conveyed  as  a 
prisoner  behind  the  chariot,  and  very  gallantly 
took  Fanny  into  it;  for,  to  say  the  truth,  this 
gentleman  (who  was  no  other  than  the  celebrated 
Mr.  Peter  Pounce,  and  who  preceded  the  Lady 
Booby  only  a  few  miles,  by  setting  out  earlier 
in  the  morning)  was  a  very  gallant  person,  and 
loved  a  pretty  girl  better  than  anything  besides 
his  own  money  or  the  money  of  other  people. 

The  chariot  now  proceeded  towards  the  inn, 
which,  as  Fanny  was  informed,  lay  in  their  way, 
and  where  it  arrived  at  that  very  time  while  the 
poet  and  jDlayer  were  disputing  below-stairs,  and 
Adams  and  Joseph  were  discoursing  back  to  back 
above,  just  at  that  period  to  which  we  brought 
them  both  in  the  two  proceeding  chapters  the 
chariot  stopped  at  the  door,  and  in  an  instant, 
Fanny,  leaping  from  it,  ran  up  to  her  Joseph. 
— 0  reader!  conceive  if  thou  canst  the  joy  which 
fired  the  breasts  of  these  lovers  on  this  meeting; 
and  if  thy  own  heart  doth  not  sympathetically 
assist  thee  in  this  concejDtion,  I  pity  thee  sincerely 
from  my  own;  for  let  the  hard-hearted  villain 
know  this,  that  there  is  a  pleasure  in  a  tender 
sensation  beyond  any  which  he  is  capable  of 
tasting. 

Peter,  being  informed  by  Fanny  of  the  presence 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  157 

of  Adams,  stopped  to  see  him,  and  receive  liis 
homage;  for,  as  Peter  was  an  hypocrite,  a  sort 
of  people  whom  Mr.  Adams  never  saw  through, 
the  one  paid  that  respect  to  his  seeming  goodness 
which  the  other  believed  to  be  paid  to  his  riches ; 
hence  Mr.  Adams  was  so  much  his  favorite,  that 
he  once  loaned  him  four  pounds  thirteen  shillings 
and  sixpence  to  prevent  his  going  to  jail,  on  no 
greater  security  than  a  bond  and  judgment,  which 
probably  he  would  have  made  no  use  of,  though 
the  money  had  not  been  (as  it  was)  paid  exactly 
at  the  time. 

It  is  not  perhaps  easy  to  describe  the  figure 
of  Adams;  he  had  risen  in  such  a  hurry,  that 
he  had  on  neither  breeches,  garters,  nor  stock- 
ings; nor  had  he  taken  from  his  head  a  red 
spotted  handkerchief,  which  by  night  bound  his 
wig,  turned  inside  out,  around  his  head.  He 
had  on  his  torn  cassock  and  his  greatcoat;  but, 
as  the  remainder  of  his  cassock  hung  down  below 
his  greatcoat,  so  did  a  small  stripe  of  white,  or 
rather  whitish,  linen  appear  below  that;  to  which 
we  may  add  the  several  colors  which  appeared 
on  his  face,  where  a  long  piss-burned  beard  served 
to  retain  the  liquor  of  the  stone-pot,  and  that 
of  a  blacker  hue  which  distilled  from  the  mop. 
— This  figure,  which  Fanny  had  delivered  from 
his  captivity,  was  no  sooner  spied  by  Peter 
than  it  disordered  the  composed  gravity  of  his 
muscles ;  however,  he  advised  him  immediately  to 
make  himself  clean,  nor  would  accept  his  homage 
in  that  pickle. 

The  poet  and  player  no  sooner  saw  the  captain 


158  THE  HISTORY  OF 

in  captivity  than  they  began  to  consider  of  their 
own  safety,  of  which  flight  presented  itself  as 
the  only  means;  they  therefore  both  of  them 
mounted  the  poet's  horse,  and  made  the  most 
expeditious  retreat  in  their  power. 

The  host,  who  well  knew  Mr.  Pounce  and  Lady 
Booby's  livery,  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  this 
change  of  the  scene ;  nor  was  his  confusion  much 
helped  by  his  wife,  who  was  now  just  risen,  and, 
having  heard  from  him  the  account  of  what  had 
passed,  comforted  him  with  a  decent  number  of 
fools  and  blockheads;  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
consult  her,  and  told  him  he  would  never  leave 
following  the  nonsensical  dictates  of  his  own 
numskull  till  she  and  her  family  were  ruined. 

Joseph,  being  informed  of  the  captain's  arrival, 
and  seeing  his  Fanny  now  in  safety,  quitted  her 
a  moment,  and,  running  downstairs,  went  directly 
to  him,  and  stripping  off  his  coat,  challenged  him 
to  fight;  but  the  captain  refused,  saying  he  did 
not  understand  boxing.  He  then  grasped  a  cud- 
gel in  one  hand,  and,  catching  the  captain  by 
the  collar  with  the  other,  gave  him  a  most  severe 
drubbing,  and  ended  with  telling  him  he  had 
now  had  some  revenge  for  what  his  dear  Fanny 
had  suffered. 

When  Mr.  Pounce  had  a  little  regaled  himself 
with  some  provision  which  he  had  in  his  chariot, 
and  Mr.  Adams  had  put  on  the  best  appearance  his 
clothes  would  allow  him.  Pounce  ordered  the  cap- 
tain into  his  presence,  for  he  said  he  was  guilty 
of  felony,  and  the  next  justice  of  peace  should 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  159 

commit  him;  but  the  servants  (whose  appetite 
for  revenge  is  soon  satisfied),  being  sufficiently 
contented  with  the  drubbing  which  Joseph  had 
inflicted  on  him,  and  which  was  indeed  of  no 
very  moderate  kind,  had  suffered  him  to  go  off, 
which  he  did,  threatening  a  severe  revenge 
against  Joseph,  which  I  have  never  heard  he 
thought  proper  to  take. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  made  her  voluntary 
appearance  before  Mr.  Pounce,  and  with  a  thou- 
sand curtsies  told  him,  ''She  hoped  his  honor 
would  pardon  her  husband,  who  was  a  very  non- 
sense man,  for  the  sake  of  his  poor  family ;  that 
indeed  if  he  could  be  ruined  alone,  she  should  be 
very  willing  of  it ;  for  because  as  why,  his  worship 
very  well  knew  he  deserved  it ;  but  she  had  three 
poor  small  children,  who  were  not  capable  to 
get  their  own  living;  and  if  her  husband  was 
sent  to  jail,  they  must  all  come  to  the  parish; 
for  she  was  a  poor  weak  woman,  continually 
a-breeding,  and  had  no  time  to  work  for  them. 
She  therefore  hoped  his  honor  would  take  it  into 
his  worship's  consideration,  and  forgive  her  hus- 
band this  time ;  for  she  was  sure  he  never  intended 
any  harm  to  man,  woman,  or  child;  and  if  it  was 
not  for  that  block-head  of  his  own,  the  man  in 
some  things  was  well  enough;  for  she  had  had 
three  children  by  him  in  less  than  three  years,  and 
was  almost  ready  to  cry  out  the  fourth  time." 
She  would  have  proceeded  in  this  manner  much 
longer,  had  not  Peter  stopped  her  tongue,  by 
telling  her  he  had  nothing  to  say  to  her  husband 


160  THE  HISTORY  OF 

nor  her  neither.  So,  as  Adams  and  the  rest  had 
assured  her  of  forgiveness,  she  cried  and  curtsied 
out  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Pounce  was  desirous  that  Fanny  should 
continue  her  journey  with  him  in  the  chariot; 
but  she  absolutely  refused,  saying  she  would  ride 
behind  Josej^h  on  a  horse  which  one  of  Lady 
Booby's  servants  had  equipped  him  with.  But, 
alas!  when  the  horse  appeared,  it  was  found  to 
be  no  other  than  that  identical  beast  which  Mr. 
Adams  had  left  behind  him  at  the  inn,  and  which 
these  honest  fellows,  who  knew  him,  had  re- 
deemed. Indeed,  whatever  horse  they  had  pro- 
vided for  Joseph,  they  would  have  prevailed  with 
him  to  mount  none,  no,  not  even  to  ride  before 
his  beloved  Fanny,  till  the  parson  was  supplied; 
much  less  would  he  deprive  his  friend  of  the  beast 
which  belonged  to  him,  and  which  he  knew  the 
moment  he  saw,  though  Adams  did  not;  how- 
ever, when  he  was  reminded  of  the  affair,  and 
told  that  they  had  brought  the  horse  with  them 
which  he  left  behind,  he  answered — Bless  me! 
and  so  I  did. 

Adams  was  very  desirous  that  Joseph  and 
Fanny  should  mount  this  horse,  and  declared  he 
could  very  easily  walk  home.  ''If  I  walked 
alone,"  says  he,  "I  would  wage  a  shilling  that  the 
pedestrian  outstripped  the  equestrian  travelers; 
but,  as  I  intend  to  take  the  company  of  a  pipe, 
peradventure  I  may  be  an  hour  later."  One  of 
the  servants  whispered  Joseph  to  take  him  at  his 
word,  and  suffer  the  old  put  to  walk  if  he  would : 
this  proposal  was  answered  with  an  angry  look 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  161 

and  a  peremptory  refusal  by  Joseph,  who,  catch- 
ing Fanny  up  in  his  arms,  averred  he  would 
rather  carry  her  home  in  that  manner,  than  take 
away  Mr.  Adams's  horse  and  permit  him  to  walk 
on  foot. 

Perhaps,  reader,  thou  hast  seen  a  contest  be- 
tween two  gentlemen,  or  two  ladies,  quickly  de- 
cided, though  they  have  both  asserted  they  would 
not  eat  such  a  nice  morsel,  and  each  insisted  on 
the  other's  accepting  it;  but  in  reality  both  were 
very  desirous  to  swallow  it  themselves.  Do  not 
therefore  conclude  hence  that  this  dispute  would 
have  come  to  a  speedy  decision:  for  here  both 
parties  were  heartily  in  earnest,  and  it  is  very 
probable  they  would  have  remained  in  the  inn- 
yard  to  this  day,  had  not  the  good  Peter  Pounce 
put  a  stop  to  it;  for,  finding  he  had  no  longer 
hopes  of  satisfying  his  old  appetite  with  Fanny, 
and  being  desirous  of  having  some  one  to  whom 
he  might  communicate  his  grandeur,  he  told  the 
parson  he  would  convey  him  home  in  his  chariot. 
This  favor  was  by  Adams,  with  many  bows  and 
acknowledgments,  accepted,  though  he  after- 
wards said,  ''he  ascended  the  chariot  rather  that 
he  might  not  offend  than  from  any  desire  of  rid- 
ing in  it,  for  that  in  his  heart  he  preferred  the 
pedestrian  even  to  the  vehicular  expedition." 
All  matters  being  now  settled,  the  chariot,  in 
which  rode  Adams  and  Pounce,  moved  forwards ; 
and  Joseph  having  borrowed  a  pillion  from  the 
host,  Fanny  had  just  seated  herself  thereon,  and 
had  laid  hold  of  the  girdle  which  her  lover  wore 

for  that  purpose,  when  the  wise  beast,  who  con- 
11—11 


162  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

eluded  that  one  at  a  time  was  sufficient,  that  two 
to  one  were  odds,  &c.,  discovered  much  uneasi- 
ness at  his  double  load,  and  began  to  consider 
his  hinder  as  his  fore  legs,  moving  the  direct  con- 
trary way  to  that  which  is  called  forwards.  Nor 
could  Joseph,  with  all  his  horsemanship,  per- 
suade him  to  advance;  but,  without  having  any 
regard  to  the  lovely  part  of  the  lovely  girl  which 
was  on  his  back,  he  used  such  agitations,  that, 
had  not  one  of  the  men  come  immediately  to  her 
assistance,  she  had,  in  plain  English,  tumbled 
backwards  on  the  ground.  This  inconvenience 
was  presently  remedied  by  an  exchange  of  horses ; 
and  then  Fanny  being  again  placed  on  her  pillion, 
on  a  better-natured  and  somewhat  a  better-fed 
beast,  the  parson's  horse,  finding  he  had  no  longer 
odds  to  contend  with,  agreed  to  march;  and  the 
whole  procession  set  forwards  for  Booby-hall, 
where  they  arrived  in  a  few  hours  without  any- 
thing remarkable  happening  on  the  road,  unless 
it  was- a  curious  dialogue  between  the  parson  and 
the  steward:  which,  to  use  the  language  of  a  late 
Apologist,  a  pattern  to  all  biographers,  ''waits 
for  the  reader  in  the  next  chapter.'* 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  curious  dialogue  which  passed  between  Mr.  Abraham 
Adams  and  Mr.  Peter  Pounce,  better  worth  reading  than 
all  the  works  of  Colley  Gibber  and  many  others. 

THE  chariot  laad  not  proceeded  far  before 
Mr.  Adams  observed  it  was  a  very  fine 
day.  "Ay,  and  a  very  fine  country, 
too,"  answered  Pounce. — ''I  should  think  so 
more,"  returned  Adams,  "if  I  had  not  lately 
traveled  over  the  Downs,  which  I  take  to  exceed 
this  and  all  other  prospects  in  the  universe." — 
"A  fig  for  prospects!"  answered  Pounce;  "one 
acre  here  is  worth  ten  there;  and  for  my  own 
part,  I  have  no  delight  in  the  prospect  of  any 
land  but  my  own." — "Sir,"  said  Adams,  "you 
can  indulge  yourself  with  many  fine  prospects 
of  that  kind."— "I  thank  God  I  have  a  little," 
replied  the  other,  "with  which  I  am  content,  and 
envy  no  man:  I  have  a  little,  Mr.  Adams,  with 
which  I  do  as  much  good  as  I  can."  Adams 
answered,  "That  riches  without  charity  were 
nothing  worth ;  for  that  they  were  a  blessing  only 
to  him  who  made  them  a  blessing  to  others." — 
"You  and  I,"  said  Peter,  "have  different  notions 
of  charity.  I  own,  as  it  is  generally  used,  I  do 
not  like  the  word,  nor  do  I  think  it  becomes  one 
of  us  gentlemen ;  it  is  a  mean  parson-like  quality ; 
though  I  would  not  infer  many  parsons  have  it 
neither." — "Sir,"  said  Adams,  "my  definition 
163 


164  THE  HISTORY  OF 

of  charity  is,  a  generous  disposition  to  relieve  the 
distressed." — ''There  is  something  in  that  defi- 
nition," answered  Peter,  "which  I  like  well 
enough;  it  is,  as  you  say,  a  disposition,  and  does 
not  so  much  consist  in  the  act  as  in  the  disposir 
tion  to  do  it.  But,  alas!  Mr.  Adams,  who  are 
meant  by  the  distressed!  Believe  me,  the  dis- 
tresses of  mankind  are  mostly  imaginary,  and  it 
would  be  rather  folly  than  goodness  to  relieve 
them." — "Sure,  sir,"  replied  Adams,  "hunger 
and  thirst,  cold  and  nakedness,  and  other  dis- 
tresses which  attend  the  poor,  can  never  be  said  to 
be  imaginary  evils." — "How  can  any  man  com- 
plain of  hunger, ' '  said  Peter,  "  in  a  country  where 
such  excellent  salads  are  to  be  gathered  in  almost 
every  field?  or  of  thirst,  where  every  river  and 
stream  produces  such  delicious  potations?  And 
as  for  cold  and  nakedness,  they  are  evils  intro- 
duced by  luxury  and  custom.  A  man  naturally 
wants  clothes  no  more  than  a  horse  or  any  other 
animal ;  and  there  are  whole  nations  who  go  with- 
out them;  but  these  are  things  perhaps  which 
you,  who  do  not  know  the  world" — "You  will 
pardon  me,  sir,"  returned  Adams;  "I  have  read 
of  the  Gymnosophists." — "A  plague  of  your 
Jehosaphats!"  cried  Peter;  "the  greatest  fault 
in  our  constitution  is  the  provision  made  for  the 
poor,  except  that  perhaps  made  for  some  others. 
Sir,  I  have  not  an  estate  which  doth  not  con- 
tribute almost  as  much  again  to  the  poor  as  to 
the  land-tax;  and  I  do  assure  you  I  expect  to 
come  myself  to  the  parish  in  the  end."  To  which 
Adams  giving  a  dissenting  smile,  Peter  thus  pro- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  165 

ceeded:  "I  fancy,  Mr.  Adams,  you  are  one  of 
those  who  imagine  I  am  a  lump  of  money;  for 
there  are  many  who,  I  fancy,  believe  that  not 
only  my  pockets,  but  my  whole  clothes,  are  lined 
with  bank-bills ;  but  I  assure  you,  you  are  all  mis- 
taken; I  am  not  the  man  the  world  esteems  me. 
If  I  can  hold  my  head  above  water  it  is  all  I  can. 
I  have  injured  myself  by  purchasing.  I  have 
been  too  liberal  of  my  money.  Indeed,  I  fear  my 
heir  will  find  my  affairs  in  a  worse  situation  than 
they  are  reputed  to  be.  Ah!  he  will  have  reason 
to  wish  I  had  loved  money  more  and  land  less. 
Pray,  my  good  neighbor,  where  should  I  have  that 
quantity  of  riches  the  world  is  so  liberal  to  bestow 
on  me?  Where  could  I  possibly,  without  I  had 
stole  it,  acquire  such  a  treasure?"  ''Why,  tru- 
ly," says  Adams,  "I  have  been  always  of  your 
opinion;  I  have  wondered  as  well  as  yourself 
with  what  confidence  they  could  report  such 
things  of  you,  which  have  to  me  appeared  as 
mere  impossibilities ;  for  you  know,  sir,  and  I  have 
often  heard  you  say  it,  that  your  wealth  is  of 
your  own  acquisition ;  and  can  it  be  credible  that 
in  your  short  time  you  should  have  amassed 
such  a  heap  of  treasure  as  these  people  will  have 
you  worth"?  Indeed,  had  you  inherited  an  es- 
tate like  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  which  had  descended 
in  your  family  for  many  generations,  they  might 
have  had  a  color  for  their  assertions."  "Why, 
what  do  they  say  I  am  worth?"  cries  Peter,  with 
a  malicious  sneer.  *'Sir,"  answered  Adams,  "I 
have  heard  some  aver  you  are  not  worth  less  than 
twenty    thousand    pounds."    At    which    Peter 


166  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

frowned.  "Nay,  sir,"  said  Adams,  "you  ask  me 
only  the  opinion  of  others;  for  my  own  part,  I 
have  always  denied  it,  nor  did  I  ever  believe  you 
could  possibly  be  worth  half  that  sum."  "How- 
ever, Mr.  Adams,"  said  he,  squeezing  him  by  the 
hand,  "I  would  not  sell  them  all  I  am  worth  for 
double  that  sum;  and  as  to  what  you  believe,  or 
they  believe,  I  care  not  a  fig,  no  not  a  fart.  I  am 
not  poor  because  you  think  me  so,  nor  because 
you  attempt  to  undervalue  me  in  the  country.  I 
know  the  envy  of  mankind  very  well ;  but  I  thank 
Heaven  I  am  above  them.  It  is  true,  my  wealth 
is  of  my  own  acquisition.  I  have  not  an  estate, 
like  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  that  has  descended  in  my 
family  through  many  generations;  but  I  know 
heirs  of  such  estates  who  are  forced  to  travel 
about  the  country  like  some  people  in  torn  cas- 
socks, and  might  be  glad  to  accept  of  a  pitiful 
curacy  for  what  I  know.  Yes,  sir,  as  shabby 
fellows  as  yourself,  whom  no  man  of  my  figure, 
without  that  vice  of  good-nature  about  him,  would 
suffer  to  ride  in  a  chariot  with  him."  "Sir," 
said  Adams,  "I  value  not  your  chariot  of  a  rush; 
and  if  I  had  known  you  had  intended  to  affront 
me,  I  would  have  walked  to  the  world's  end  on 
foot  ere  I  would  have  accepted  a  place  in  it. 
However,  sir,  I  will  soon  rid  you  of  that  incon- 
venience;" and  so  saying,  he  opened  the  chariot 
door,  without  calling  to  the  coachman,  and  leaped 
out  into  the  highway,  forgetting  to  take  his  hat 
along  with  him;  which,  however,  Mr.  Pounce 
threw  after  him  with  great  violence.  Joseph  and 
Fanny  stopped  to  bear  him  companj^  the  rest  of 
the  way,  which  was  not  above  a  mile. 


BOOK  IV 
CHAPTER  I 

The  arrival  of  Lady  Booby  anii  the  rest  at  Booby-hall. 

THE  coach  and  six,  in  which  Lady  Booby 
rode,  overtook  the  other  travelers  as 
they  entered  the  parish.  She  no  sooner 
saw  Joseph  than  her  cheeks  glowed  with  red, 
and  immediately  after  became  as  totally  pale. 
She  had  in  her  surprise  almost  stopped  her 
coach;  but  recollected  herself  timely  enough  to 
prevent  it.  She  entered  the  parish  amidst  the 
ringing  of  bells  and  the  acclamations  of  the  poor, 
who  were  rejoiced  to  see  their  patroness  returned 
after  so  long  an  absence,  during  which  time  all 
her  rents  had  been  drafted  to  London,  without 
a  shilling  being  spent  among  them,  which  tended 
not  a  little  to  their  utter  impoverishing;  for,  if 
the  court  would  be  severely  missed  in  such  a  city 
as  London,  how  much  more  must  the  absence  of 
a  person  of  great  fortune  be  felt  in  a  little  country 
village,  for  whose  inhabitants  such  a  family  finds 
a  constant  employment  and  supply;  and  with  the 
offals  of  whose  table  the  infirm,  aged,  and  infant 
poor  are  abundantly  fed,  with  a  generosity  which 
hath  scarce  a  visible  effect  on  their  benefactors' 
pockets ! 
But,  if  their  interest  inspired  so  public  a  joy 
167 


168  THE  HISTORY  OF 

into  every  countenance,  how  much  more  forcibly 
did  the  affection  which  they  bore  parson  Adams 
operate  upon  all  who  beheld  his  return!  They 
flocked  about  him  like  dutiful  children  round  an 
indulgent  parent,  and  vied  with  each  other  in 
demonstrations  of  duty  and  love.  The  parson  on 
his  side  shook  every  one  by  the  hand,  inquired 
heartily  after  the  healths  of  all  that  were  absent, 
of  their  children,  and  relations;  and  expressed 
a  satisfaction  in  his  face  which  nothing  but  benev- 
olence made  happy  by  its  objects  could  infuse. 

Nor  did  Joseph  and  Fanny  want  a  hearty  wel- 
come from  all  who  saw  them.  In  short,  no  three 
persons  could  be  more  kindly  received,  as,  indeed, 
none  ever  more  deserved  to  be  universally  be- 
loved. 

Adams  carried  his  fellow-travelers  home  to  his 
house,  where  he  insisted  on  their  partaking  what- 
ever his  wife,  whom,  with  his  children,  he  found 
in  health  and  joy,  could  provide : — where  we  shall 
leave  them  enjoying  perfect  happiness  over  a 
homely  meal,  to  view  scenes  of  greater  splendor, 
but  infinitely  less  bliss. 

Our  more  intelligent  readers  will  doubtless  sus- 
pect, by  this  second  appearance  of  Lady  Booby 
on  the  stage,  that  all  was  not  ended  by  the  dis- 
mission of  Joseph;  and,  to  be  honest  with  them, 
they  are  in  the  right :  the  arrow  had  pierced 
deeper  than  she  imagined ;  nor  was  the  wound  so 
easily  to  be  cured.  The  removal  of  the  object 
soon  cooled  her  rage,  but  it  had  a  different  effect 
on  her  love;  that  departed  with  his  person,  but 
this  remained  lurking  in  her  mind  with  his  image. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  169 

Restless,  interrupted  slumbers,  and  confused  hor- 
rible dreams  were  her  portion  the  first  night.  In 
the  morning,  fancy  painted  her  a  more  delicious 
scene;  but  to  delude,  not  delight  her;  for,  before 
she  could  reach  the  promised  happiness,  it  van- 
ished, and  left  her  to  curse,  not  bless,  the  vision. 

She  started  from  her  sleep,  her  imagination  be- 
ing all  on  fire  with  the  phantom,  when,  her  eyes 
accidentally  glancing  towards  the  spot  where  yes- 
terday the  real  Joseph  had  stood,  that  little  cir- 
cumstance raised  his  idea  in  the  liveliest  colors 
in  her  memory.  Each  look,  each  word,  each  ges- 
ture rushed  back  on  her  mind  with  charms  which 
all  his  coldness  could  not  abate.  Nay,  she  im- 
puted that  to  his  youth,  his  folly,  his  awe,  his 
religion,  to  everything  but  what  would  instantly 
have  produced  contempt,  want  of  passion  for  the 
sex,  or  that  which  would  have  roused  her  hatred, 
want  of  liking  to  her. 

Reflection  then  hurried  her  farther,  and  told  her 
she  must  see  this  beautiful  youth  no  more;  nay, 
suggested  to  her  that  she  herself  had  dismissed 
him  for  no  other  fault  than  probably  that  of  too 
violent  an  awe  and  respect  for  herself;  and  which 
she  ought  rather  to  have  esteemed  a  merit,  the 
effects  of  which  were  besides  so  easily  and  surely 
to  have  been  removed;  she  then  blamed,  she 
cursed  the  hasty  rashness  of  her  temper ;  her  fury 
was  vented  all  on  herself,  and  Joseph  appeared  in- 
nocent in  her  eyes.  Her  passion  at  length  grew  so 
violent,  that  it  forced  her  on  seeking  relief,  and 
now  she  thought  of  recalling  him:  but  pride  for- 
bade that ;  pride,  which  soon  drove  all  softer  pas- 


170  THE  HISTORY  OF 

sions  from  her  soul,  and  represented  to  her  the 
meanness  of  him  she  was  fond  of.  That  thought 
soon  began  to  obscure  his  beauties ;  contempt  suc- 
ceeded next,  and  then  disdain,  which  presently 
introduced  her  hatred  of  the  creature  who  had 
given  her  so  much  uneasiness.  These  enemies  of 
Joseph  had  no  sooner  taken  possession  of  her 
mind  than  they  insinuated  to  her  a  thousand 
things  in  his  disfavor;  everything  but  dislike  of 
her  person;  a  thought  which,  as  it  would  have 
been  intolerable  to  bear,  she  checked  the  moment 
it  endeavored  to  arise.  Revenge  came  now  to  her 
assistance;  and  she  considered  her  dismission  of 
him,  stripped,  and  without  a  character,  with  the 
utmost  pleasure.  She  rioted  in  the  several  kinds 
of  misery  which  her  imagination  suggested  to  her 
might  be  his  fate;  and,  with  a  smile  composed 
of  anger,  mirth,  and  scorn,  viewed  him  in  the  rags 
in  which  her  fancy  had  dressed  him. 

Mrs.  Slipslop,  being  summoned,  attended  her 
mistress,  who  had  now  in  her  own  opinion  totally 
subdued  this  passion.  Whilst  she  wag  dressing 
she  asked  if  that  fellow  had  been  turned  away 
according  to  her  orders.  Slipslop  answered,  she 
had  told  her  ladyship  so  (as  indeed  she  had). — 
"And  how  did  he  behave?"  replied  the  lady. 
*' Truly,  madam,"  cries  Slipslop,  "in  such  a  man- 
ner that  infected  everybody  who  saw  him.  The 
poor  lad  had  but  little  wages  to  receive;  for  he 
constantly  allowed  his  father  and  mother  half  his 
income;  so  that,  when  your  ladyship's  livery  was 
stripped  off,  he  had  not  wherewithal  to  buy  a 
coat,  and  must  have  gone  naked  if  one  of  the 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  171 

footmen  had  not  incommodated  him  with  one ;  and 
whilst  he  was  standing  in  his  shirt  (and,  to  say 
truth,  he  was  an  amorous  figure),  being  told  your 
ladyship  would  not  give  him  a  character,  he 
sighed,  and  said  he  had  done  nothing  willingly  to 
offend;  that  for  his  part,  he  should  always  give 
your  ladyship  a  good  character  wherever  he  went ; 
and  he  prayed  God  to  bless  you ;  for  you  was  the 
best  of  ladies,  though  his  enemies  had  set  you 
against  him.  I  wish  you  had  not  turned  him 
away;  for  I  believe  you  have  not  a  faithfuller 
servant  in  the  house." — ''How  came  you  then," 
replied  the  lady,  "to  advise  me  to  turn  him 
away?" — ''I,  madam!"  said  Slipslop;  ''I  am 
sure  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  say,  I  did  all 
in  my  power  to  prevent  it;  but  I  saw  your  lady- 
ship was  angry;  and  it  is  not  the  business  of 
us  upper  servants  to  hinterfere  on  these  occa- 
sions." ''And  was  it  not  you,  audacious 
wretch!"  cried  the  lady,  "who  made  me  angry? 
Was  it  not  your  tittle-tattle,  in  which  I  believe 
you  belied  the  poor  fellow,  which  incensed  me 
against  him?  He  may  thank  you  for  all  that 
hath  happened;  and  so  may  I  for  the  loss  of  a 
good  servant,  and  one  who  probably  had  more 
merit  than  all  of  you.  Poor  fellow !  I  am  charmed 
with  his  goodness  to  his  parents.  Why  did  not 
you  tell  me  of  that,  but  suffer  me  to  dismiss  so 
good  a  creature  without  a  character?  I  see  the 
reason  of  your  whole  behavior  now  as  well  as 
your  complaint ;  you  was  jealous  of  the  wenches. ' ' 
"I  jealous!"  said  Slipslop;  "I  assure  you,  I  look 
upon  myself  as  his  betters;  I  am  not  meat  for  a 


172  THE  HISTORY  OF 

footman,  I  hope."  These  words  threw  the  lady 
into  a  violent  passion,  and  she  sent  Slipslop  from 
her  presence,  who  departed,  tossing  her  nose,  and 
crying,  ''Marry,  come  up!  there  are  some  people 
more  jealous  than  I,  I  believe."  Her  lady 
affected  not  to  hear  the  words,  though  in  reality 
she  did,  and  understood  them  too.  Now  ensued 
a  second  conflict,  so  like  the  former,  that  it  might 
savor  of  repetition  to  relate  it  minutely.  It  may 
suffice  to  say  that  Lady  Booby  found  good  reason 
to  doubt  whether  she  had  so  absolutely  conquered 
her  passion  as  she  had  flattered  herself;  and, 
in  order  to  accomplish  it  quite,  took  a  resolution, 
more  common  than  wise,  to  retire  immediately 
into  the  country.  The  reader  hath  long  ago  seen 
the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Slipslop,  whom  no  pertness 
could  make  her  mistress  resolve  to  part  with; 
lately,  that  of  Mr.  Pounce,  her  forerunners ;  and, 
lastly,  that  of  the  lady  herself. 

The  morning  after  her  arrival  being  Sunday 
she  went  to  church,  to  the  great  surprise  of  every- 
body, who  wondered  to  see  her  ladyship,  being  no 
very  constant  church-woman,  there  so  suddenly 
upon  her  journey.  Joseph  was  likewise  there; 
and  I  have  heard  it  was  remarked  that  she  fixed 
her  eyes  on  him  much  more  than  on  the  parson ; 
but  this  I  believe  to  be  only  a  malicious  rumor. 
When  the  prayers  were  ended  Mr.  Adams  stood 
up,  and  with  a  loud  voice  pronounced,  ''I  publish 
the  banns  of  marriage  between  Joseph  Andrews 
and  Frances  Goodwill,  both  of  this  parish,"  &c. 
Whether  this  had  any  effect  on  Lady  Booby  or  no, 
who  was  then  in  her  pew,  which  the  congregation 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  173 

could  not  see  into,  I  could  never  discover:  but 
certain  it  is  that  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
she  stood  up,  and  directed  her  eyes  to  that  part 
of  the  church  where  the  women  sat,  and  persisted 
in  looking  that  way  during  the  remainder  of  the 
sermon  in  so  scrutinizing  a  manner,  and  with  so 
angry  a  countenance,  that  most  of  the  women 
were  afraid  she  was  offended  at  them.  The 
moment  she  returned  home  she  sent  for  Slipslop 
into  her  chamber,  and  told  her  she  wondered  what 
that  impudent  fellow  Joseph  did  in  that  parish! 
Upon  which  Slipslop  gave  her  an  account  of  lier 
meeting  Adams  with  him  on  the  road,  and  like- 
wise the  adventure  with  Fanny.  At  the  relation 
of  which  the  lady  often  changed  her  countenance ; 
and  when  she  had  heard  all,  she  ordered  Mr. 
Adams  into  her  presence,  to  whom  she  behaved 
as  the  reader  will  see  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTEE  II 

A  dialogue  between  Mr.  Abraham  Adams  and  tbe  Lady  Booby. 

MR.  ADAMS  was  not  far  off,  for  lie  was 
drinking  her  ladyship's  health  below  in 
,  a  cup  of  her  ale.    He  no  sooner  came 

before  her  than  she  began  in  the  following  man- 
ner: ''I  wonder,  sir,  after  the  many  great  obliga- 
tions you  have  had  to  this  family"  (with  all  which 
the  reader  hath  in  the  course  of  this  history  been 
minutely  acquainted),  ''that  you  will  ungratefully 
show  any  respect  to  a  fellow  who  hath  been  turned 
out  of  it  for  his  misdeeds.  Nor  doth  it,  I  can  tell 
you,  sir,  become  a  man  of  your  character,  to  run 
about  the  country  with  an  idle  fellow  and  wench. 
Indeed,  as  for  the  girl,  I  know  no  harm  of  her. 
Slipslop  tells  me  she  was  formerly  bred  up  in  my 
house,  and  behaved  as  she  ought,  till  she 
hankered  after  this  fellow,  and  he  spoiled  her. 
Nay,  she  may  still,  perhaps,  do  very  well,  if  he 
will  let  her  alone.  You  are,  therefore,  doing  a 
monstrous  thing  in  endeavoring  to  procure  a 
match  between  these  two  people,  which  will  be 
to  the  ruin  of  them  both." — ''Madam,"  said 
Adams,  "if  your  ladyship  will  but  hear  me  speak, 
I  protest  I  never  heard  any  harm  of  Mr.  Joseph 
Andrews;  if  I  had,  I  should  have  corrected  him 
for  it;  for  I  never  have,  nor  will,  encourage  the 

174 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  175 

faults  of  those  under  my  cure.  As  for  the  young 
woman,  I  assure  your  ladyship  I  have  as  good  an 
opinion  of  her  as  your  ladyship  yourself  or  any 
other  can  have.  She  is  the  sweetest-tempered, 
honestest,  worthiest  young  creature;  indeed,  as 
to  her  beauty,  I  do  not  commend  her  on  that  ac- 
count, though  all  men  allow  she  is  the  handsomest 
woman,  gentle  or  simple,  that  ever  appeared  in 
the  parish." — "You  are  very  impertinent,"  says 
she,  "to  talk  such  fulsome  stuff  to  me.  It  is 
mighty  becoming  truly  in  a  clergyman  to  trouble 
himself  about  handsome  women,  and  you  are  a 
delicate  judge  of  beauty,  no  doubt.  A  man  who 
hath  lived  all  his  life  in  such  a  parish  as  this  is 
a  rare  judge  of  beauty!  Ridiculous!  beauty  in- 
deed !  a  country  wench  a  beauty !  I  shall  be  sick 
whenever  I  hear  beauty  mentioned  again.  And 
so  this  wench  is  to  stock  the  parish  with  beauties, 
I  hope.  But,  sir,  our  poor  is  numerous  enough 
already;  I  will  have  no  more  vagabonds  settled 
here." — "Madam,"  says  Adams,  "your  ladyship 
is  offended  with  me,  I  protest,  without  any  reason. 
This  couple  were  desirous  to  consummate  long 
ago,  and  I  dissuaded  them  from  it;  nay,  I  may 
venture  to  say,  I  believe  I  was  the  sole  cause  of 
their  delaying  it." — "Well,"  says  she,  "and  you 
did  very  wisely  and  honestly  too,  notwithstanding 
she  is  the  greatest  beauty  in  the  parish. ' ' — ' '  And 
now,  madam,"  continued  he,  "I  only  perform  my 
office  to  Mr.  Joseph." — "Pray,  don't  mister  such 
fellows  to  me,"  cries  the  lady.  "He,"  said  the 
parson,  "with  the  consent  of  Fanny,  before  my 
face,  put  in  the  banns."     "Yes,"  answered  tho 


176  THE  HISTORY  OF 

lady,  ''I  suppose  the  slut  is  forward  enough; 
Slipslop  tells  me  how  her  head  runs  upon  fellows; 
that  is  one  of  her  beauties,  I  suppose.  But  if 
they  have  put  in  the  banns,  I  desire  you  will 
publish  them  no  more  without  my  orders." — 
'* Madam,"  cries  Adams,  "if  any  one  puts  in  a 
sufficient  caution,  and  assigns  a  proper  reason 
against  them,  I  am  willing  to  surcease." — "I  tell 
you  a  reason,"  says  she:  "he  is  a  vagabond,  and 
he  shall  not  settle  here  and  bring  a  nest  of  beggars 
into  the  parish;  it  will  make  us  but  little  amends 
that  they  will  be  beauties." — "Madam,"  an- 
swered Adams,  "with  the  utmost  submission  to 
your  ladyship,  I  have  been  informed  by  lawyer 
Scout  that  any  person  who  serves  a  year  gains  a 
settlement  in  the  parish  where  he  serves." — 
"Lawyer  Scout,"  replied  the  lady,  "is  an  im- 
pudent coxcomb;  I  will  have  no  lawyer  Scout 
interfere  with  me.  I  repeat  to  you  again,  I  will 
have  no  more  incumbrances  brought  on  us:  so  I 
desire  you  will  proceed  no  farther." — "Madam," 
returned  Adams,  "I  would  obey  your  ladyship  in 
everything  that  is  lawful ;  but  surely  the  parties 
being  poor  is  no  reason  against  their  marrying. 
God  forbid  there  should  be  any  such  law!  The 
poor  have  little  share  enough  of  this  world 
already;  it  would  be  barbarous  indeed  to  deny 
them  the  common  privileges  and  innocent  enjoy- 
ments which  nature  indulges  to  the  animal  crea- 
tion."— "Since  you  understand  yourself  no  bet- 
ter," cries  the  lady,  "nor  the  respect  due  from 
such  as  you  to  a  woman  of  my  distinction,  than  to 
affront  my  ears  by  such  loose  discourse,  I  shall 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  177 

mention  but  one  short  word;  it  is  my  orders  to 
you  that  you  publish  these  banns  no  more ;  and  if 
you  dare,  I  will  recommend  it  to  your  master,  the 
doctor,  to  discard  you  from  his  service.     I  will, 
sir,  notwithstanding  your  poor  family;  and  then 
you  and  the  greatest  beauty  in  the  parish  may 
go    and    beg    together." — "Madam,"    answered 
Adams,  "I  know  not  what  your  ladyship  means 
by  the  terms  master  and  service.     I  am  in  the 
service  of  a  Master  who  will  never  discard  me 
for  doing  my  duty;  and  if  the  doctor  (for  indeed 
I  have  never  been  able  to  pay  for   a  license) 
thinks  proper  to  turn  me  from  my  cure,  God  will 
provide  me,  I  hope  another.     At  least,  my  family, 
as  well  as  myself,  have  hands;  and  he  will  pros- 
per, I  doubt  not,  our  endeavors  to  get  our  bread 
honestly   with   them.     Whilst   my   conscience   is 
pure,  I  shall  never  fear  what  man  can  do  unto 
me." — "I  condemn  my  humility,"  said  the  lady, 
"for  demeaning  myself  to  converse  with  you  so 
long.     I  shall  take  other  measures ;  for  I  see  you 
are  a  confederate  with  them.     But  the  sooner  you 
leave   me   the   better;   and   I    shall    give   orders 
that  my  doors  may  no  longer  be  open  to  you.     I 
will  suffer  no  parsons  who  run  about  the  coun- 
try  with   beauties,   to   be   entertained   here." — • 
"Madam,"  said  Adams,  "I  shall  enter  into  no 
persons'  doors  against  their  will;  but  I  am  as- 
sured, when  you  have  inquired  farther  into  this 
matter,   you   will   applaud,   not  blame,   my  pro- 
ceeding ;  and  so  I  humbly  take  my  leave : ' '  which 
he  did  with  many  bows,  or  at  least  many  attempts 
at  a  bow. 

11—12 


CHAPTER  III 

What  passed  between  the  lady  and  lawyer  Scout. 

IN  the  afternoon  the  lady  sent  for  Mr.  Scout, 
whom  she  attacked  most  violently  for  inter- 
meddling with  her  servants,  which  he  denied 
and  indeed  with  truth,  for  he  had  only  asserted 
accidentally,  and  perhaps  rightly,  that  a  year's 
service  gained  a  settlement;  and  so  far  he  owned 
he  might  have  formerly  informed  the  parson  and 
believe  it  was  law.  "I  am  resolved,"  said 
the  lady,  "to  have  no  discarded  servants  of  mine 
settled  here;  and  so,  if  this  be  your  law,  I  shall 
send  to  another  lawyer."  Scout  said,  "If  she 
sent  to  a  hundred  lawyers,  not  one  or  all  of  them 
could  alter  the  law.  The  utmost  that  was  in  the 
power  of  a  lawyer  was  to  prevent  the  law's  taking 
effect;  and  that  he  himself  could  do  for  her 
ladyship  as  well  as  any  other;  and  I  believe," 
says  he,  "madam,  your  ladyship,  not  being  con- 
versant in  these  matters,  hath  mistaken  a  differ- 
ence ;  for  I  asserted  only  that  a  man  who  served 
a  year  was  settled.  Now  there  is  a  material  dif- 
ference between  being  settled  in  law  and  settled 
in  fact ;  and  as  I  affirmed  generally  he  was  settled, 
and  law  is  preferable  to  fact,  my  settlement 
must  be  understood  in  law  and  not  in  fact.  And 
suppose,  madam,  we  admit  he  was  settled  in  law, 
what  use  will  they  make  of  it?  how  doth  that  re- 

178 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  179 

late. to  fact?  He  is  not  settled  in  fact;  and  if  he 
be  not  settled  in  fact,  he  is  not  an  inhabitant; 
and  if  he  is  not  an  inhabitant,  he  is  not  of  this 
parish ;  and  then  undoubtedly  he  ought  not  to  be 
published  here ;  for  Mr.  Adams  hath  told  me  your 
ladyship's  pleasure,  and  the  reason,  which  is  a 
very  good  one,  to  prevent  burdening  us  with  the 
poor ;  we  have  too  many  already,  and  I  think  we 
ought  to  have  an  act  to  hang  or  transport  half 
of  them.  If  we  can  prove  in  evidence  that  he 
is  not  settled  in  fact,  it  is  another  matter.  What 
I  said  to  Mr.  Adams  was  on  a  supposition  that 
he  was  settled  in  fact ;  and  indeed,  if  that  was  the 
case,  I  should  doubt," — "Don't  tell  me  your  facts 
and  your  ifs,"  said  the  lady;  "I  don't  understand 
your  gibberish ;  you  take  too  much  upon  you,  and 
are  very  impertinent,  in  pretending  to  direct  in 
this  parish;  and  you  shall  be  taught  better,  I 
assure  you,  you  shall.  But  as  to  the  wench,  I  am 
resolved  she  shall  not  settle  here ;  I  will  not  suffer 
such  beauties  as  these  to  produce  children  for  us 
to  keep." — "Beauties,  indeed!  your  ladyship  is 
pleased  to  be  merry,"  answered  Scout. — "Mr. 
Adams  described  her  so  to  me,"  said  the  lady. 
"Pray  what  sort  of  dowdy  is  it,  Mr.  Scout?" 
— "The  ugliest  creature  almost  I  ever  beheld;  a 
poor  dirty  drab,  your  ladyship  never  saw  such 
a  wretch." — "Well,  but,  dear  Mr.  Scout,  let  her 
be  what  she  will,  these  ugly  women  will  bring 
children,  you  know;  so  that  we  must  prevent  the 
marriage." — "True,  madam,"  replied  Scout^ 
"for  the  subsequent  marriage  co-operating  with 
the  law  will  carry  law  into  fact.    When  a  man  is 


180  THE  HISTORY  OF 

married,  he  is  settled  in  fact,  and  then  he  is  not 
removable.  I  will  see  Mr.  Adams,  and  I  make  no 
doubt  of  i^revailing  with  him.  His  only  objection 
is,  doubtless,  that  he  shall  lose  his  fee;  but  that 
being  once  made  easy,  as  it  shall  be,  I  am  con- 
fident no  farther  objection  will  remain.  No,  no, 
it  is  impossible;  but  your  ladyship  can't  discom- 
mend his  unwillingness  to  depart  from  his  fee. 
Every  man  ought  to  have  a  proper  value  for  his 
fee.  As  to  the  matter  in  question,  if  your  lady- 
ship pleases  to  employ  me  in  it,  I  will  venture  to 
promise  you  success.  The  laws  of  this  land 
are  not  so  vulgar  to  permit  a  mean  fellow  to 
contend  with  one  of  your  ladyship's  fortune.  We 
have  one  sure  card,  which  is,  to  carry  him  before 
Justice  Frolick,  who,  upon  hearing  your  lady- 
ship's name,  will  commit  him  without  any  farther 
questions.  As  for  the  dirty  slut,  we  shall  have 
nothing  to  do  with  her;  for,  if  we  get  rid  of  the 
fellow,  the  ugly  jade  will — " — "Take  what  meas- 
ures you  please,  good  Mr.  Scout,"  answered  the 
lady:  ''but  I  wish  you  could  rid  the  parish  of 
both;  for  Slipslop  tells  me  such  stories  of  this 
wench,  that  I  abhor  the  thoughts  of  her;  and, 
though  you  say  she  is  such  an  ugly  slut,  yet  you 
know,  dear  Mr.  Scout,  these  forward  creatures, 
who  run  after  men,  will  always  find  some  as  for- 
ward as  themselves;  so  that,  to  prevent  the  in- 
crease of  beggars,  we  must  get  rid  of  her." — 
''Your  ladyship  is  very  much  in  the  right,"  an- 
swered Scout;  "but  I  am  afraid  the  law  is  a  little 
deficient  in  giving  us  any  such  i^ower  of  preven- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  181 

tion ;  however,  the  justice  will  stretch  it  as  far  as 
he  is  able,  to  oblige  your  ladyship.  To  say  truth, 
it  is  a  great  blessing  to  the  country  that  he  is  in 
the  commission,  for  he  hath"  taken  several  poor 
off  our  hands  that  the  law  would  never  lay  hold 
on.  I  know  some  justices  who  think  as  much  of 
committing  a  man  to  Bridewell  as  his  lordship  at 
'size  would  of  hanging  him;  but  it  would  do  a 
man  good  to  see  his  worship,  our  justice,  commit 
a  fellow  to  Bridewell,  he  takes  so  much  pleasure 
in  it;  and  when  once  we  ha'um  there,  we  seldom 
hear  any  more  o'um.  He's  either  starved  or  eat 
up  by  vermin  in  a  month's  time." — Here  the  ar- 
rival of  a  visitor  put  an  end  to  the  conversation, 
and  Mr.  Scout,  having  undertaken  the  cause  and 
promised  it  success,  departed. 

This  Scout  was  one  of  those  fellows  who,  with- 
out any  knowledge  of  the  law,  or  being  bred  to 
it,  take  upon  them,  in  defiance  of  an  act  of  Par- 
liament, to  act  as  lawyers  in  the  country,  and  are 
called  so.  They  are  the  pests  of  society,  and  a  scan- 
dal to  a  profession,  to  which  indeed  they  do  not 
belong,  and  which  owes  to  such  kind  of  rascallions 
the  ill-will  which  weak  persons  bear  towards  it. 
With  this  fellow,  to  whom  a  little  before  she  would 
not  have  condescended  to  have  spoken,  did  a  cer- 
tain passion  for  Joseph,  and  the  jealousy  and  the 
disdain  of  poor  innocent  Fanny,  betray  the  Ladj 
Booby  into  a  familiar  discourse,  in  which  she  in- 
advertently confirmed  many  hints  with  which 
Slipslop,  whose  gallant  he  was,  had  preacquainted 
Mm;  and  whence  he  had  taken  an  opportunity  to 


182  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

assert  tliose  severe  falsehoods  of  little  Fanny 
which  possibly  the  reader  might  not  have  been 
well  able  to  account  for  if  we  had  not  thought 
proper  to  give  him  this  information. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  short  chapter,  but  very  full  of  matter;  particularly  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Booby  and  his  lady. 

ALL  that  night,  and  the  next  day,  the  Lady 
Booby  passed  with  the  utmost  anxiety ;  her 
mind  was  distracted  and  her  soul  tossed  up 
and  down  by  many  turbulent  and  opposite  pas- 
sions. She  loved,  hated,  pitied,  scorned,  admired, 
despised  the  same  person  by  fits,  which  changed 
in  a  very  short  interval.  On  Tuesday  morning, 
which  happened  to  be  a  holiday,  she  went  to 
church,  where,  to  her  surprise,  Mr.  Adams  pub- 
lished the  banns  again  with  as  audible  a  voice  as 
before.  It  was  lucky  for  her  that,  as  there  was 
no  sermon,  she  had  an  immediate  opportunity  of 
returning  home  to  vent  her  rage,  which  she  could 
not  have  concealed  from  the  congregation  five 
minutes ;  indeed,  it  was  not  then  very  numerous, 
the  assembly  consisting  of  no  more  than  Adams, 
his  clerk,  his  wife,  the  lady,  and  one  of  her  serv- 
ants. At  her  return  she  met  Slipslop,  who  ac- 
costed her  in  these  words: — "0  meam,  what  doth 
your  ladyship  think?  To  be  sure,  lawyer  Scout 
hath  carried  Joseph  and  Fanny  both  before  the 
justice.  All  the  parish  are  in  tears,  and  say  they 
will  certainly  be  hanged ;  for  nobody  knows  what 
it  is  for." — "I  suppose  they  deserve  it,"  says  the 
lady.  ''What!  dost  thou  mention  such  wretches 
183 


184  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  me?" — "0  dear  madam,"  answered  Slipslop, 
"is  it  not  a  pity  such  a  graceless  young  man 
should  die  a  virulent  death?  I  hope  the  judge 
will  take  commensuration  on  his  youth.  As  for 
Fanny,  I  don't  think  it  signifies  much  what  be- 
comes of  her;  and  if  poor  Joseph  hath  done  anj^- 
thing,  I  could  venture  to  swear  she  traduced  him 
to  it:  few  men  ever  come  to  a  fragrant  punish- 
ment, but  by  those  nasty  creatures,  who  are  a 
scandal  to  our  sect."  The  lady  was  no  more 
pleased  at  this  news,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
than  Slipslop  herself;  for,  though  she  wished 
Fanny  far  enough,  she  did  not  desire  the  removal 
of  Joseph,  especially  with  her.  She  was  puzzled 
how  to  act  or  what  to  say  on  this  occasion,  when 
a  coach  and  six  drove  into  the  court,  and  a  servant 
acquainted  her  with  the  arrival  of  her  nephew 
Booby  and  his  lady.  She  ordered  them  to  be  con- 
ducted into  a  drawing-room,  whither  she  presently 
repaired,  having  composed  her  countenance  as 
well  as  she  could,  and  being  a  little  satisfied  that 
the  wedding  would  by  these  means  be  at  least  in- 
terrupted, and  that  she  should  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  execute  any  resolution  she  might  take, 
for  which  she  saw  herself  provided  with  an  excel- 
lent instrument  in  Scout. 

The  Lady  Booby  apprehended  her  servant  had 
made  a  mistake  when  he  mentioned  Mr.  Booby's 
lady ;  for  she  had  never  heard  of  his  marriage :  but 
how  great  was  her  surprise  when,  at  her  entering 
the  room,  her  nephew  presented  his  wife  to  her; 
saying,  "Madam,  this  is  that  charming  Pamela, 
of  whom   I   am   convinced   you  have   heard   so 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  185 

much. ' '  The  lady  received  her  with  more  civility 
than  he  expected ;  indeed  with  the  utmost ;  for  she 
was  perfectly  polite,  nor  had  any  vice  inconsistent 
with  good-breeding.  They  passed  some  little  time 
in  ordinary  discourse,  when  a  servant  came  and 
whispered  Mr.  Booby,  who  presently  told  the  la- 
dies he  must  desert  them  a  little  on  some  business 
of  consequence ;  and,  as  their  discourse  during  his 
absence  would  afford  little  improvement  or  enter- 
tainment to  the  reader,  we  will  leave  them  for  a 
while  to  attend  Mr.  Booby. 


CHAPTER  V 

Containing  justice  business;  curious  precedents  of  depositions, 
and  other  matters  necessary  to  be  perused  by  all  justices  of 
the  peace  and  their  clerks. 


THE  young  squire  and  his  lady  were  no 
sooner  alighted  from  their  coach  than  the 
servants  began  to  inquire  after  Mr.  Jo- 
seph, from  whom  they  said  their  lady  had  not 
heard  a  word,  to  her  great  surprise,  since  he  had 
left  Lady  Booby's.  Upon  this  they  were  in- 
stantly informed  of  what  had  lately  happened, 
with  which  they  hastily  acquainted  their  master, 
who  took  an  immediate  resolution  to  go  himself, 
and  endeavor  to  restore  his  Pamela  her  brother, 
before  she  even  knew  she  had  lost  him. 

The  justice  before  whom  the  criminals  were  car- 
ried, and  who  lived  within  a  short  mile  of  the 
lady's  house,  was  luckily  Mr.  Booby's  acquaint- 
ance, by  his  having  an  estate  in  his  neighborhood. 
Ordering  therefore  his  horses  to  his  coach,  he  set 
out  for  the  judgment-seat,  and  arrived  when  the 
justice  had  almost  finished  his  business.  He  was 
conducted  into  a  hall,  where  he  was  acquainted 
that  his  worship  would  wait  on  him  in  a  moment; 
for  he  had  only  a  man  and  a  woman  to  commit  to 
Bridewell  first.  As  he  was  now  convinced  he 
had  not  a  minute  to  lose,  he  insisted  on  the  serv- 
ant's  introducing  him   directly   into    the   room 

186 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  187 

where  the  justice  was  then  executing  his  office,  as 
he  called  it.  Being  brought  thither,  and  the  first 
compliments  being  passed  between  the  squire  and 
his  worship,  the  former  asked  the  latter  what 
crime  those  two  young  people  had  been  guilty  of? 
''No  great  crime,"  answered  the  justice;  "I  have 
only  ordered  them  to  Bridewell  for  a  month." 
''But  what  is  their  crime?"  repeated  the  squire. 
"Larceny,  an't  please  your  honor,"  said  Scout. 
"Ay,"  says  the  justice,  "a  kind  of  felonious  lar- 
cenous thing.  I  believe  I  must  order  them  a  lit- 
tle correction  too,  a  little  stripping  and  whip- 
ping." (Poor  Fanny,  who  had  hitherto  sup- 
ported all  with  the  thoughts  of  Joseph's  company, 
trembled  at  that  sound;  but,  indeed,  without  rea- 
son, for  none  but  the  devil  himself  would  have  ex- 
ecuted such  a  sentence  on  her.)  "Still,"  said  the 
squire,  "I  am  ignorant  of  the  crime — the  fact  I 
mean."  Wliy,  there  it  is  in  peaper,"  answered 
the  justice,  showing  him  a  deposition  which,  in  the 
absence  of  his  clerk,  he  had  writ  himself,  of  which 
we  have  with  great  difficulty  procured  an  authen- 
tic copy;  and  here  it  follows  verbatim  et  liter- 
atim:— 

The  depusition  of  James  Scout,  layer,  and  Thomas  Trotter, 
yeoman,  taken  before  mee,  one  of  liis  magesty's  justasses 
of  the  piece  for  Zumersetshire. 

"These  deponants  saith,  and  first  Thomas  Trot- 
ter for  himself  saith,  that  on  the  —  of  this  instant 
October,  being  Sabbath-day,  betwin  the  ours  of 
2  and  4  in  the  afternoon,  he  zeed  Joseph  Andrews 


188  THE  HISTORY  OF 

and  Francis  Goodwill  walk  akross  a  certane  felde 
belunging  to  layer  Scout,  and  out  of  the  path 
which  ledes  thru  the  said  felde,  and  there  he  zede 
Joseph  Andrews  with  a  nife  cut  one  hassel  twig, 
of  the  value,  as  he  believes,  of  three  half-pence,  or 
thereabouts;  and  he  saith  that  the  said  Francis 
Goodwill  was  likewise  walking  on  the  grass  out  of 
the  said  path  in  the  said  felde,  and  did  receive 
and  karry  in  her  hand  the  said  twig,  and  so  was 
cumfarting,  eading,  and  abatting  to  the  said 
Joseph  therein.  And  the  said  James  Scout  for 
himself  says  that  he  verily  believes  the  said  twig 
to  be  his  own  proper  twig,"  &c. 

^'Jesu!"  said  the  squire,  "would  you  commit 
two  persons  to  Bridewell  for  a  twig?"  "Yes," 
said  the  lawyer,  "and  with  great  lenity  too;  for 
if  we  had  called  it  a  young  tree,  they  would  have 
been  both  hanged."  "Harkee,"  says  the  justice, 
taking  aside  the  squire;  "I  should  not  have  been 
so  severe  on  this  occasion,  but  Lady  Booby  desires 
to  get  them  out  of  the  parish;  so  lawyer  Scout 
will  give  the  constable  orders  to  let  them  run 
away,  if  they  please,  but  it  seems  they  intend  to 
marry  together,  and  the  lady  hath  no  other  means, 
as  they  are  legally  settled  there,  to  prevent  their 
bringing  an  incumbrance  on  her  own  parish." 
"Well,"  said  the  squire,  "I  will  take  care  my 
aunt  shall  be  satisfied  in  this  point;  and  likewise 
I  promise  you,  Joseph  here  shall  never  be  any  in- 
cumbrance on  her.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you, 
therefore,  if,  instead  of  Bridewell,  you  will  com- 
mit them  to  my  custody."     "0!  to  be  sure,  sir, 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  189 

if  you  desire  it,"  answered  the  justice;  and  with- 
out more  ado  Joseph  and  Fanny  were  delivered 
over  to  Squire  Booby,  whom  Joseph  very  well 
knew,  but  little  guessed  how  nearly  he  was  related 
to  him.  The  justice  burned  his  mittimus,  the  con- 
stable was  sent  about  his  business,  the  lawyer 
made  no  complaint  for  want  of  justice;  and  the 
prisoners,  with  exulting  hearts,  gave  a  thousand 
thanks  to  his  honor  Mr.  Booby;  who  did  not  in- 
tend their  obligations  to  him  should  cease  here; 
for,  ordering  his  man  to  produce  a  cloak-bag, 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  brought  from  Lady 
Booby's  on  purpose,  he  desired  the  justice  that 
he  might  have  Joseph  with  him  into  a  room; 
where,  ordering  his  servant  to  take  out  a  suit  of 
his  own  clothes,  with  linen  and  other  necessaries, 
he  left  Joseph  to  dress  himself,  who,  not  yet 
knowing  the  cause  of  all  this  civility,  excused  his 
accepting  such  a  favor  as  long  as  decently  he 
could.  Whilst  Joseph  was  dressing,  the  squire 
repaired  to  the  justice,  whom  he  found  talking 
with  Fanny ;  for,  during  the  examination,  she  had 
flopped  her  hat  over  her  eyes,  which  were  also 
bathed  in  tears,  and  had  by  that  means  concealed 
from  his  worship  what  might  perhaps  have  ren- 
dered the  arrival  of  Mr.  Booby  unnecessary,  at 
least  for  herself.  The  justice  no  sooner  saw  her 
countenance  cleared  up,  and  her  bright  eyes  shin- 
ing through  her  tears,  than  he  secretly  cursed 
himself  for  having  once  thought  of  Bridewell  for 
her.  He  would  willingly  have  sent  his  own  wife 
thither,  to  have  had  Fanny  in  her  place.  And, 
conceiving  almost  at  the  same  instant  desires  and 


190  THE  HISTORY  OF 

schemes  to  accomplish  them,  he  employed  the  min- 
utes whilst  the  squire  was  absent  with  Joseph  in 
assuring  her  how  sorry  he  was  for  having  treated 
her  so  roughly  before  he  knew  her  merit ;  and  told 
her,  that  since  Lady  Booby  was  unwilling  that  she 
should  settle  in  her  parish,  she  was  heartily  wel- 
come to  his,  where  he  promised  her  his  protection, 
adding  that  he  would  take  Joseph  and  her  into 
his  own  family,  if  she  liked  it;  which  assurance 
he  confirmed  with  a  squeeze  by  the  hand.  She 
thanked  him  very  kindly,  and  said,  *'She  would 
acquaint  Joseph  with  the  offer,  which  he  would 
certainly  be  glad  to  accept ;  for  that  Lady  Booby 
was  angry  with  them  both;  though  she  did  not 
know  either  had  done  anything  to  offend  her,  but 
imputed  it  to  Madam  Slipslop,  who  had  always 
been  her  enemy." 

The  squire  now  returned,  and  prevented  any 
farther  continuance  of  this  conversation ;  and  the 
justice,  out  of  a  pretended  respect  to  his  guest, 
but  in  reality  from  an  apprehension  of  a  rival  (for 
he  knew  nothing  of  his  marriage),  ordered  Fanny 
into  the  kitchen,  whither  she  gladly  retired;  nor 
did  the  squire,  who  declined  the  trouble  of  ex- 
plaining the  whole  matter,  oppose  it. 

It  would  be  unnecessary,  if  I  was  able,  which 
indeed  I  am  not,  to  relate  the  conversation  be- 
tween these  two  gentlemen,  which  rolled,  as  I  have 
been  informed,  entirely  on  the  subject  of  horse- 
racing.  Joseph  was  soon  dressed  in  the  plainest 
dress  he  could  find,  which  was  a  blue  coat  and 
breeches,  with  a  gold  edging,  and  a  red  waistcoat 
with  the  same :  and  as  this  suit,  which  was  rather 


JOSEPH  ANDBEWS  191 

too  large  for  the  squire,  exactly  fitted  him,  so  he 
became  it  so  well,  and  looked  so  genteel,  that  no 
person  would  have  doubted  its  being  as  well 
adapted  to  his  quality  as  his  shape ;  nor  have  sus- 
pected, as  one  might,  when  my  Lord ,  or  Sir 

,  or  Mr. ,  appear  in  lace  or  embroidery, 

that  the  tailor's  man  wore  those  clothes  home  on 
his  back  which  he  should  have  carried  under  his 
arm. 

The  squire  now  took  leave  of  the  justice;  and, 
calling  for  Fanny,  made  her  and  Joseph,  against 
their  wills,  get  into  the  coach  with  him,  which  he 
then  ordered  to  drive  to  Lady  Booby's.  It  had 
moved  a  few  yards  only,  when  the  squire  asked 
Joseph  if  he  knew  who  that  man  was  crossing 
the  field ;  for,  added  he,  I  never  saw  one  take  such 
strides  before.  Joseph  answered  eagerly, ' '  0,  sir, 
it  is  parson  Adams!"  "0  la,  indeed,  and  so  it 
is,"  said  Fanny;  '^poor  man,  he  is  coming  to  do 
what  he  could  for  us.  Well,  he  is  the  worthiest, 
best-natured  creature." — ''Ay,"  said  Joseph; 
"God  bless  him!  for  there  is  not  such  another  in 
the  universe."  "The  best  creature  living  sure," 
cries  Fanny.  "Is  he?"  says  the  squire;  "then 
I  am  resolved  to  have  the  best  creature  living  in 
my  coach;"  and  so  saying,  he  ordered  it  to  stop, 
whilst  Joseph,  at  his  request,  hallowed  to  the  par- 
son, who,  well  knowing  his  voice,  made  all  the 
haste  imaginable,  and  soon  came  up  with  them. 
He  was  desired  by  the  master,  who  could  scarce 
refrain  from  laughter  at  his  figure,  to  mount  into 
the  coach,  which  he  with  many  thanks  refused, 
saying  he  could  walk  by  its  side,  and  he'd  warrant 


192  THE  HISTORY  OP 

he  kept  up  with  it ;  but  he  was  at  length  over-pre- 
vailed on.  The  squire  now  acquainted  Joseph 
with  his  marriage ;  but  he  might  have  spared  him- 
self that  labor ;  for  his  servant,  whilst  Joseph  was 
dressing,  had  performed  that  office  before.  He 
continued  to  express  the  vast  happiness  he  en- 
joyed in  his  sister,  and  the  value  he  had  for  all 
who  belonged  to  her.  Joseph  made  many  bows, 
and  expressed  as  many  acknowledgments:  and 
parson  Adams,  who  now  first  perceived  Joseph's 
new  apparel,  burst  into  tears  with  joy,  and  fell 
to  rubbing  his  hands  and  snapping  his  fingers  as 
if  he  had  been  mad. 

They  were  now  arrived  at  the  Lady  Booby's, 
and  the  squire,  desiring  them  to  wait  a  moment  in 
the  court,  walked  in  to  his  aunt,  and  calling  her 
out  from  his  wife,  acquainted  her  with  Joseph's 
arrival;  saying,  ''Madam,  as  I  have  married  a 
virtuous  and  worthy  woman,  I  am  resolved  to  own 
her  relations,  and  show  them  all  a  proper  respect ; 
I  shall  think  myself  therefore  infinitely  obliged  to 
all  mine  who  will  do  the  same.  It  is  true,  her 
brother  hath  been  your  servant,  but  he  is  now  be- 
come my  brother ;  and  I  have  one  happiness,  that 
neither  his  character,  his  behavior,  or  appearance, 
give  me  any  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  calling  him 
so.  In  short,  he  is  now  below,  dressed  like  a  gen- 
tleman, in  which  light  I  intend  he  shall  hereafter 
be  seen ;  and  you  will  oblige  me  beyond  expression 
if  you  will  admit  him  to  be  of  our  party;  for  I 
know  it  will  give  great  pleasure  to  my  wife,  though 
she  will  not  mention  it." 

This  was  a  stroke  of  fortune  beyond  the  Lady 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  193 

Booby's  hopes  or  expectation;  she  answered  him 
eagerly, ' '  Nephew,  you  know  how  easily  I  am  pre- 
vailed on  to  do  anything  which  Joseph  Andrews 
desires — Phoo,  I  mean  which  you  desire  me ;  and, 
as  he  is  now  your  relation,  I  cannot  refuse  to  en- 
tertain him  as  such."  The  squire  told  her  he 
knew  his  obligation  to  her  for  her  compliance ;  and 
going  three  steps,  returned  and  told  her — he  had 
one  more  favor,  which  he  believed  she  would 
easily  grant,  as  she  had  accorded  him  the  former. 
''There  is  a  young  woman — " — "Nephew,"  says 
she,  "don't  let  my  good-nature  make  you  desire, 
as  is  too  commonly  the  case,  to  impose  on  me. 
Nor  think,  because  I  have  with  so  much  con- 
descension agreed  to  suffer  your  brother-in-law  to 
come  to  my  table,  that  I  will  submit  to  the  com- 
pany of  all  my  own  servants,  and  all  the  dirty  trol- 
lops in  the  country."  "Madam,"  answered  the 
squire,  "I  believe  you  never  saw  this  young  crea- 
ture. I  never  beheld  such  sweetness  and  inno- 
cence joined  with  such  beauty,  and  withal  so  gen- 
teel." "Upon  my  soul  I  won't  admit  her,"  re- 
plied the  lady  in  a  passion;  "the  whole  world 
shan't  prevail  on  me;  I  resent  even  the  desire 

as  an  affront,  and "     The  squire,  who  knew 

her  inflexibility,  interrupted  her,  by  asking  par- 
don, and  promising  not  to  mention  it  more.  He 
then  returned  to  Joseph,  and  she  to  Pamela.  He 
took  Joseph  aside,  and  told  him  he  would  carry 
him  to  his  sister,  but  could  not  prevail  as  yet  for 
Fanny.  Joseph  begged  that  he  might  see  his 
sister  alone,  and  then  be  with  his  Fanny;  but  the 
squire,  knowing  the  pleasure  his  wife  would  have 

11—13 


194  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

in  her  brother's  company,  would  not  admit  it, 
telling  Joseph  there  would  be  nothing  in  so  short 
an  absence  from  Fanny,  whilst  he  was  assured 
of  her  safety;  adding,  he  hoped  he  could  not  so 
easily  quit  a  sister  whom  he  had  not  seen  so  long, 
and  who  so  tenderly  loved  him.  Joseph  immedi- 
ately complied;  for  indeed  no  brother  could  love 
a  sister  more ;  and,  recommending  Fanny,  who  re- 
joiced that  she  was  not  to  go  before  Lady  Booby, 
to  the  care  of  Mr.  Adams,  he  attended  the  squire 
upstairs,  whilst  Fanny  repaired  with  the  parson 
to  his  house,  where  she  thought  herself  secure 
of  a  kind  reception. 


CHAPTEE  VI 

Of  which  you  are  desired  to  read  no  more  than  you  like. 

THE  meeting  between  Joseph  and  Pamela 
was  not  without  tears  of  joy  on  both 
sides;  and  their  embraces  were  full  of 
tenderness  and  affection.  They  were,  however, 
regarded  with  much  more  pleasure  by  the  nephew 
than  by  the  aunt,  to  whose  flame  they  were  fuel 
only;  and  this  was  increased  by  the  addition  of 
dress,  which  was  indeed  not  wanted  to  set  off 
the  lively  colors  in  which  Nature  had  drawn 
health,  strength,  comeliness,  and  youth.  In  the 
afternoon  Joseph,  at  their  request,  entertained 
them  with  an  account  of  his  adventures :  nor  could 
Lady  Booby  conceal  her  dissatisfaction  at  those 
parts  in  which  Fanny  was  concerned,  especially 
when  Mr.  Booby  launched  forth  into  such  raptur- 
ous praises  of  her  beauty.  She  said,  applying  to 
her  niece,  that  she  wondered  her  nephew,  who  had 
pretended  to  marry  for  love,  should  think  such  a 
subject  proper  to  amuse  his  wife  with;  adding, 
that,  for  her  part,  she  should  be  jealous  of  a  hus- 
band who  spoke  so  warmly  in  praise  of  another 
woman.  Pamela  answered,  indeed,  she  thought 
she  had  cause;  but  it  was  an  instance  of  Mr. 
Booby's  aptness  to  see  more  beauty  in  women 
than  they  were  mistresses  of.  At  which  words 
both  the  women  fixed  their  eyes  on  two  looking- 

195 


196  THE  HISTORY  OP 

glasses ;  and  Lady  Booby  replied,  that  men  were, 
in  the  general,  very  ill  judges  of  beauty ;  and  then, 
whilst  both  contemplated  only  their  own  faces, 
they  paid  a  cross  compliment  to  each  other's 
charms.  When  the  hour  of  rest  approached, 
which  the  lady  of  the  house  deferred  as  long  as 
decently  she  could,  she  informed  Joseph  (whom 
for  the  future  we  shall  call  Mr.  Joseph,  he  having 
as  good  a  title  to  that  appellation  as  many  others 
— I  mean  that  incontested  one  of  good  clothes) 
that  she  had  ordered  a  bed  to  be  provided  for  him. 
He  declined  this  favor  to  his  utmost;  for  his  heart 
had  long  been  with  his  Fanny;  but  she  insisted  on 
his  accepting  it,  alleging  that  the  parish  had  no 
proper  accommodation  for  such  a  person  as  he 
was  now  to  esteem  himself.  The  squire  and  his 
lady  both  joining  with  her,  Mr.  Joseph  was  at  last 
forced  to  give  over  his  design  of  visiting  Fanny 
that  evening;  who,  on  her  side,  as  impatiently  ex- 
pected him  till  midnight,  when,  in  complacence  to 
Mr.  Adams's  family,  who  had  sat  up  two  hours 
out  of  respect  to  her,  she  retired  to  bed,  but  not 
to  sleep;  the  thoughts  of  her  love  kept  her  wak- 
ing, and  his  not  returning  according  to  his  prom- 
ise filled  her  with  uneasiness ;  of  which,  however, 
she  could  not  assign  any  other  cause  than  merely 
that  of  being  absent  from  him. 

Mr.  Joseph  rose  early  in  the  morning,  and  vis- 
ited her  in  whom  his  soul  delighted.  She  no  soon- 
er heard  his  voice  in  the  parson's  parlor  than  she 
leaped  from  her  bed,  and,  dressing  herself  in  a 
few  minutes,  went  down  to  him.  They  passed  two 
hours  with  inexpressible  happiness  together  j  and 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  197 

then,  having  appointed  Monday,  by  Mr.  Adams's 
permission,  for  their  marriage,  Mr.  Joseph  re- 
turned, according  to  his  promise,  to  breakfast  at 
the  Lady  Booby's,  with  whose  behavior,  since  the 
evening,  we  shall  now  acquaint  the  reader. 

She  was  no  sooner  retired  to  her  chamber  than 
she  asked  Slipslop  "What  she  thought  of  this  won- 
derful creature  her  nephew  had  married!" — 
"Madam!"  said  Slipslop,  not  yet  sufficiently  un- 
derstanding what  answer  she  was  to  make.  "I 
ask  you,"  answered  the  lady,  "what  you  think  of 
the  dowdy,  my  niece,  I  think  I  am  to  call  her?" 
Slipslop,  wanting  no  further  hint,  began  to  pull 
her  to  pieces,  and  so  miserably  defaced  her,  that 
it  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  one  to  have 
known  the  person.  The  lady  gave  her  all  the  as- 
sistance she  could,  and  ended  with  saying,  "I 
think.  Slipslop,  you  have  done  her  justice ;  but  yet, 
bad  as  she  is,  she  is  an  angel  compared  to  this 
Fanny."  Slipslop  then  fell  on  Fanny,  whom  she 
hacked  and  hewed  in  the  like  barbarous  manner, 
concluding  with  an  observation  that  there  was  al- 
ways something  in  those  low-life  creatures  which 
must  eternally  extinguish  them  from  their  bet- 
ters. "Really,"  said  the  lady,  "I  think  there  is 
one  exception  to  your  rule ;  I  am  certain  you  may 
guess  who  I  mean." — "Not  I,  upon  my  word, 
madam,"  said  Slipslop.  "I  mean  a  young  fel- 
low; sure  you  are  the  dullest  wretch,"  said  the 
lady.  "0  la!  I  am  indeed.  Yes,  truly,  madam, 
he  is  an  accession,"  answered  Slipslop.  "Ay,  is 
he  not.  Slipslop?"  returned  the  lady.  "Is  he  not 
so  genteel  that  a  prince  might,  without  a  blush, 


198  THE  HISTORY  OF 

acknowledge  Mm  for  his  son?  His  behavior  is 
such  that  would  not  shame  the  best  education. 
He  borrows  from  his  station  a  condescension  in 
everything  to  his  superiors,  yet  unattended  by 
that  mean  servility  which  is  called  good  behavior 
in  such  persons.  Everything  he  doth  hath  no 
mark  of  the  base  motive  of  fear,  but  visibly  shows 
some  respect  and  gratitude,  and  carries  with  it 
the  persuasion  of  love.  And  then  for  his  virtues : 
such  piety  to  his  parents,  such  tender  affection 
to  his  sister,  such  integrity  in  his  friendship,  such 
bravery,  such  goodness,  that,  if  he  had  been  born 
a  gentleman,  his  wife  would  have  possessed  the 
most  invaluable  blessing." — '*To  be  sure,  ma'- 
am," says  Slipslop.  "But  as  he  is,"  answered 
the  lady,  ''if  he  had  a  thousand  more  good  quali- 
ties, it  must  render  a  woman  of  fashion  contempti- 
ble even  to  be  suspected  of  thinking  of  him ;  yes, 
I  should  despise  myself  for  such  a  thought." — 
"To  be  sure,  ma'am,"  said  Slipslop.  "And  why 
to  be  sure?"  replied  the  lady;  "thou  art  always 
one's  echo.  Is  he  not  more  worthy  of  affection 
than  a  dirty  country  clown,  though  born  of  a  fam- 
ily as  old  as  the  flood?  or  an  idle  worthless  rake, 
or  little  puisny  beau  of  quality?  And  yet  these 
we  must  condemn  ourselves  to,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  censure  of  the  world ;  to  shun  the  contempt  of 
others,  we  must  ally  ourselves  to  those  we  despise ; 
we  must  prefer  birth,  title,  and  fortune,  to  real 
merit.  It  is  a  tyranny  of  custom,  a  tyranny  we 
must  comply  with;  for  we  people  of  fashion  are 
the  slaves  of  custom." — "Marry  come  up!"  said 
Slipsloj^,  who  now  knew  well  which  party  to  take. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  199 

*'If  I  was  a  woman  of  your  ladyship's  fortune 
and  quality,  I  would  be  a  slave  to  nobody." — • 
*'Me,"  said  the  lady;  *'I  am  speaking  if  a  young 
woman  of  fashion,  who  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
world,  should  happen  to  like  such  a  fellow. — Me, 
indeed !  I  hope  thou  dost  not  imagine — " — ' '  No, 
ma'am,  to  be  sure,"  cries  Slipslop.  "No!  what 
no  r '  cried  the  lady.  ' '  Thou  art  always  ready  to 
answer  before  thou  hast  heard  one.  So  far  I 
must  allow  he  is  a  charming  fellow.  Me,  indeed ! 
No,  Slipslop,  all  thoughts  of  men  are  over  with 
me.  I  have  lost  a  husband  who — but  if  I  should 
reflect  I  should  run  mad.  My  future  ease  must 
depend  ujDon  forgetfulness.  Slipslop,  let  me  hear 
some  of  thy  nonsense,  to  turn  my  thoughts  an- 
other way.  What  dost  thou  think  of  Mr.  An- 
drews?"— "Why,  I  think,"  says  Slipslop,  "he  is 
the  handsomest,  most  properest  man  I  ever  saw; 
and  if  I  was  a  lady  of  the  greatest  degree  it  would 
be  well  for  some  folks.  Your  ladyship  may  talk 
of  custom,  if  you  please :  but  I  am  confidous  there 
is  no  more  comparison  between  young  Mr.  An- 
drews and  most  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  come 
to  your  ladyship's  house  in  London;  a  parcel  of 
whipper-snapper  sparks:  I  would  sooner  marry 
our  old  parson  Adams.  Never  tell  me  what  peo- 
ple say,  whilst  I  am  happy  in  the  arms  of  him  I 
love.  Some  folks  rail  against  other  folks  because 
other  folks  have  what  some  folks  would  be  glad 
of." — "And  so,"  answered  the  lady,  "if  you  was 
a  woman  of  condition,  you  would  really  marry  Mr. 
Andrews?" — "Yes,  I  assure  your  ladyship,"  re- 
plied Slipslop,  "if  he  would  have  me." — "Fool, 


200  THE  HISTORY  OF 

idiot ! ' '  cries  the  lady ; ' 'if  he  would  have  a  woman 
of  fashion!  is  that  a  question?" — ''No,  truly  mad- 
am," said  Slipslop,  "I  believe  it  would  be  none  if 
Fanny  was  out  of  the  way ;  and  I  am  confidous,  if 
I  was  in  your  ladyship's  place,  and  liked  Mr. 
Joseph  Andrews,  she  should  not  stay  in  the  parish 
a  moment.  I  am  sure  lawyer  Scout  would  send 
her  packing  if  your  ladyship  would  but  say  the 
word."  This  last  speech  of  Slipslop  raised  a  tem- 
pest in  the  mind  of  her  mistress.  She  feared 
Scout  had  betrayed  her,  or  rather  that  she  had 
betrayed  herself.  After  some  silence,  and  a  dou- 
ble change  of  her  complexion,  first  to  pale  and 
then  to  red,  she  thus  spoke:  "I  am  astonished 
at  the  liberty  you  give  j^our  tongue.  Would  you 
insinuate  that  I  employed  Scout  against  this 
wench  on  account  of  the  fellow?" — "La,  ma'am," 
said  Slipslop,  frightened  out  of  her  wits,  "I  as- 
sassinate such  a  thing ! ' ' — ' '  I  think  you  dare  not, ' ' 
answered  the  lady;  "I  believe  my  conduct  may 
defy  malice  itself  to  assert  so  cursed  a  slander. 
If  I  had  ever  discovered  any  wantonness,  any 
lightness  in  my  behavior;  if  I  had  followed  the 
example  of  some  whom  thou  hast,  I  believe,  seen, 
in  allowing  myself  indecent  liberties,  even  with  a 
husband;  but  the  dear  man  who  is  gone"  (here 
she  began  to  sob),  **was  he  alive  again"  (then  she 
produced  tears),  "could  not  upbraid  me  with  any 
one  act  of  tenderness  or  passion.  No,  Slipslop, 
all  the  time  I  cohabited  with  him  he  never  ob- 
tained even  a  kiss  from  me  without  my  expressing 
reluctance  in  the  granting  it.  I  am  sure  he  him- 
self never  suspected  how  much  I  loved  him.    Since 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  26i 

liis  death,  thou  knowest,  though  it  is  almost  six 
weeks  (it  wants  but  a  day)  ago,  I  have  not  admit- 
ted one  visitor  till  this  fool  my  nephew  arrived. 
I  have  confined  myself  quite  to  one  party  of 
friends.  And  can  such  a  conduct  as  this  fear  to 
be  arraigned?  To  be  accused,  not  only  of  a  pas- 
sion which  I  have  always  despised,  but  of  fixing  it 
on  such  an  object,  a  creature  so  much  beneath  my 
notice!" — "Upon  my  word,  ma'am,"  says  Slip- 
slop, "I  do  not  understand  your  ladyship;  nor 
know  I  anything  of  the  matter." — "I  believe  in- 
deed thou  dost  not  understand  me.  Those  are 
delicacies  which  exist  only  in  superior  minds ;  thy 
coarse  ideas  cannot  comprehend  them.  Thou  art 
a  low  creature,  of  the  Andrews  breed,  a  reptile  of 
a  lower  order,  a  weed  that  grows  in  the  common 
garden  of  the  creation." — "I  assure  your  lady- 
ship," says  Slipslop,  whose  passions  were  almost 
of  as  high  an  order  as  her  lady's,  "I  have  no  more 
to  do  with  Common  Garden  than  other  folks. 
Really,  your  ladyship  talks  of  servants  as  if  they 
were  not  born  of  the  Christian  specious.  Serv- 
ants have  flesh  and  blood  as  well  as  quality;  and 
Mr.  Andrews  himself  is  a  proof  that  they  have  as 
good,  if  not  better.  And  for  my  own  part,  I  can't 
perceive  my  dears  ^  are  coarser  than  other  peo- 
ple's; and  I  am  sure,  if  Mr.  Andrews  was  a  dear 
of  mine,  I  should  not  be  ashamed  of  him  in  com- 
pany with  gentlemen ;  for  whoever  hath  seen  him 
in  his  new  clothes  must  confess  he  looks  as  much 
like  a  gentleman  as  anybody.  Coarse,  quotha! 
I  can't  bear  to  hear  the  poor  young  fellow  run 

1  Meaning  perhaps  ideas. 


202  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

down  neither;  for  I  will  say  tliis,  I  never  heard 
him  say  an  ill  word  of  anybody  in  his  life.  I  am 
sure  his  coarseness  doth  not  lie  in  his  heart,  for 
he  is  the  best-natured  man  in  the  world;  and  as 
for  his  skin,  it  is  no  coarser  than  other  people's, 
I  am  sure.  His  bosom,  when  a  boy,  was  as  white 
as  driven  snow ;  and,  where  it  is  not  covered  with 
hairs,  is  so  still.  Ifakins !  if  I  was  Mrs.  Andrews, 
with  a  hundred  a  year,  I  should  not  envy  the  best 
she  who  wears  a  head.  A  woman  that  could  not 
be  happy  with  such  a  man  ought  never  to  be  so ; 
for  if  he  can't  make  a  woman  happy,  I  never  yet 
beheld  the  man  who  could.  I  say  again,  I  wish  I 
was  a  great  lady  for  his  sake.  I  believe,  when  I 
had  made  a  gentleman  of  him,  he'd  behave  so  that 
nobody  should  deprecate  what  I  had  done ;  and  I 
fancy  few  would  venture  to  tell  him  he  was  no 
gentleman  to  his  face,  nor  to  mine  neither."  At 
which  words,  taking  up  the  candles,  she  asked  her 
mistress,  who  had  been  some  time  in  her  bed,  if 
she  had  any  farther  commands?  who  mildly  an- 
swered, she  had  none ;  and,  telling  her  she  was  a 
comical  creature,  bid  her  good-night. 


CHAPTEK  VII 

Philosophical  reflections,  the  like  not  to  be  found  in  any  light 
French  romance.  Mr.  Booby's  grave  advice  to  Joseph, 
and  Fanny's  encounter  with  a  beau. 

HABIT,  my  good  reader,  hath  so  vast  a 
prevalence  over  the  human  mind,  that 
there  is  scarce  anything  too  strange  or 
too  strong  to  be  asserted  of  it.  The  story  of  the 
miser,  who,  from  long  accustoming  to  cheat  others, 
came  at  last  to  cheat  himself,  and  with  great  de- 
light and  triumph  picked  his  own  pocket  of  a 
guinea  to  convey  to  his  hoard,  is  not  impossible 
or  improbable.  In  like  manner  it  fares  with  the 
practicers  of  deceit,  who,  from  having  long  de- 
ceived their  acquaintance,  gain  at  last  a  power  of 
deceiving  themselves,  and  acquire  that  very  opin- 
ion (however  false)  of  their  own  abilities,  excel- 
lencies, and  virtues,  into  which  they  have  for 
years  perhaps  endeavored  to  betray  their  neigh- 
bors. Now,  reader,  to  apply  this  observation  to 
my  present  purpose,  thou  must  know,  that  as  the 
passion  generally  called  love  exercises  most  of  the 
talents  of  the  female  or  fair  world,  so  in  this  they 
now  and  then  discover  a  small  inclination  to  de- 
ceit; for  which  thou  wilt  not  be  angry  with  the 
beautiful  creatures  when  thou  hast  considered 
that  at  the  age  of  seven,  or  something  earlier,  miss 
is  instructed  by  her  mother  that  master  is  a  very 

203 


204  THE  HISTORY  OF 

monstrous  kind  of  animal,  who  will,  if  she  suffers 
him  to  come  too  near  her,  infallibly  eat  her  up  and 
grind  her  to  pieces :  that,  so  far  from  kissing  or 
toying  with  him  of  her  own  accord,  she  must  not 
admit  him  to  kiss  or  toy  with  her :  and,  lastly,  that 
she  must  never  have  any  affection  towards  him; 
for  if  she  should,  all  her  friends  in  petticoats 
would  esteem  her  a  traitress,  point  at  her,  and 
hunt  her  out  of  their  society.  These  impressions, 
being  first  received,  are  farther  and  deeper  incul- 
cated by  their  school-mistresses  and  companions ; 
so  that  by  the  age  of  ten  they  have  contracted 
such  a  dread  and  abhorrence  of  the  above-named 
monster,  that  whenever  they  see  him  they  fly  from 
him  as  the  innocent  hare  doth  from  the  grey- 
hound. Hence,  to  the  age  of  fourteen  or  fifteen, 
they  entertain  a  mighty  antipathy  to  master ;  they 
resolve,  and  frequently  profess,  that  they  will 
never  have  any  commerce  with  him,  and  entertain 
fond  hopes  of  passing  their  lives  out  of  his  reach, 
of  the  possibility  of  which  they  have  so  visible  an 
example  in  their  good  maiden  aunt.  But  when 
they  arrive  at  this  period,  and  have  now  passed 
their  second  climacteric,  when  their  wisdom, 
grown  riper,  begins  to  see  a  little  farther,  and, 
from  almost  daily  falling  in  master's  way,  to  ap- 
prehend the  great  difficulty  of  keeping  out  of  it; 
and  when  they  observe  him  look  often  at  them, 
and  sometimes  very  eagerly  and  earnestly  too  (for 
the  monster  seldom  takes  any  notice  of  them  till 
at  this  age),  they  then  begin  to  think  of  their  dan- 
ger ;  and,  as  they  perceive  they  cannot  easily  avoid 
him,  the  wiser  part  bethink  themselves  of  pro- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  205 

viding  by  other  means  for  their  security.  They 
endeavor,  by  all  methods  they  can  invent,  to  ren- 
der themselves  so  amiable  in  his  eyes,  that  he  may 
have  no  inclination  to  hurt  them;  in  which  they 
generally  succeed  so  well,  that  his  eyes,  by  fre- 
quent languishing,  soon  lessen  their  idea  of  his 
fierceness,  and  so  far  abate  their  fears,  that  they 
venture  to  parley  with  him;  and  when  they  per- 
ceive him  so  different  from  what  he  hath  been 
described,  all  gentleness,  softness,  kindness,  ten- 
derness, fondness,  their  dreadful  apprehensions 
vanish  in  a  moment;  and  now  (it  being  usual  with 
the  human  mind  to  skip  from  one  extreme  to  its 
opposite,  as  easily,  and  almost  as  suddenly,  as  a 
bird  from  one  bough  to  another)  love  instantly 
succeeds  to  fear:  but,  as  it  happens  to  persons 
who  have  in  their  infancy  been  thoroughly  fright- 
ened with  certain  no-persons  called  ghosts,  that 
they  retain  their  dread  of  those  beings  after  they 
are  convinced  that  there  are  no  such  things,  so 
these  young  ladies,  though  they  no  longer  appre- 
hend devouring,  cannot  so  entirely  shake  off  all 
that  hath  been  instilled  into  them;  they  still  en- 
tertain the  idea  of  that  censure  which  was  so 
strongly  imprinted  on  their  tender  minds,  to  which 
the  declarations  of  abhorrence  they  every  day 
hear  from  their  companions  greatly  contribute. 
To  avoid  this  censure,  therefore,  is  now  their  only 
care;  for  which  purpose  they  still  pretend  the 
same  aversion  to  the  monster :  and  the  more  they 
love  him,  the  more  ardently  they  counterfeit  the 
antipathy.  By  the  continual  and  constant  prac- 
tice of  which  deceit  on  others,  they  at  length  im- 


206  THE  HISTORY  OF 

pose  on  themselves,  and  really  believe  they  hate 
what  they  love.  Thus,  indeed,  it  happened  to 
Lady  Booby,  who  loved  Joseph  long  before  she 
knew  it ;  and  now  loved  him  much  more  than  she 
suspected.  She  had  indeed,  from  the  time  of  his 
sister's  arrival  in  the  quality  of  her  niece,  and 
from  the  instant  she  viewed  him  in  the  dress  and 
character  of  a  gentleman,  began  to  conceive  se- 
cretly a  design  which  love  had  concealed  from 
herself  till  a  dream  betrayed  it  to  her. 

She  had  no  sooner  risen  than  she  sent  for  her 
nephew.  When  he  came  to  her,  after  many  com- 
pliments on  his  choice,  she  told  him,  ''He  might 
perceive,  in  her  condescension  to  admit  her  own 
servant  to  her  table,  that  she  looked  on  the  fam- 
ily of  Andrews  as  his  relations,  and  indeed  hers ; 
that,  as  he  had  married  into  such  a  family,  it  be- 
came him  to  endeavor  by  all  methods  to  raise  it 
as  much  as  possible.  At  length  she  advised  him 
to  use  all  his  heart  to  dissuade  Joseph  from  his 
intended  match,  which  would  still  enlarge  their 
relation  to  meanness  and  poverty;  concluding 
that,  by  a  commission  in  the  army,  or  some  other 
genteel  employment,  he  might  soon  put  young  Mr. 
Andrews  on  the  foot  of  a  gentleman;  and,  that 
being  once  done,  his  accomplishments  might 
quickly  gain  him  an  alliance  which  would  not  be  to 
their  discredit." 

Her  nephew  heartily  embraced  this  proposal; 
and,  finding  Mr.  Joseph  with  his  wife,  at  his  re- 
turn to  her  chamber,  he  immediately  began  thus : 
*'My  love  to  my  dear  Pamela,  brother,  will  extend 
to  all  her  relations;  nor  shall  I  show  them  less  re- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  207 

spect  than  if  I  had  married  into  the  family  of  a 
duke.  I  hope  I  have  given  you  some  early  testi- 
monies of  this,  and  shall  continue  to  give  you  daily 
more.  You  will  excuse  me  therefore,  brother,  if 
my  concern  for  your  interest  makes  me  mention 
what  may  be,  perhaps,  disagreeable  to  you  to 
hear :  but  I  must  insist  upon  it,  that,  if  you  have 
any  value  for  my  alliance  or  my  friendship,  you 
will  decline  any  thoughts  of  engaging  farther  with 
a  girl  who  is,  as  you  are  a  relation  of  mine,  so 
much  beneath  you.  I  know  there  may  be  at  first 
some  dififieulty  in  your  compliance,  but  that  will 
daily  diminish ;  and  you  will  in  the  end  sincerely 
thank  me  for  my  advice.  I  own,  indeed,  the  girl  is 
handsome ;  but  beauty  alone  is  a  poor  ingredient, 
and  will  make  but  an  uncomfortable  marriage. ' ' — 
"Sir,"  said  Joseph,  *'I  assure  you  her  beauty  is 
her  least  perfection ;  nor  do  I  know  a  virtue  which 
that  young  creature  is  not  possessed  of.'* — **As 
to  her  virtues,"  answered  Mr.  Booby,  *'you  can 
be  yet  but  a  slender  judge  of  them;  but,  if  she 
had  never  so  many,  you  will  find  her  equal  in  these 
among  her  superiors  in  birth  and  fortune,  which 
now  you  are  to  esteem  on  a  footing  with  yourself ; 
at  least  I  will  take  care  they  shall  shortly  be  so, 
unless  you  prevent  me  by  degrading  yourself  with 
such  a  match,  a  match  I  have  hardly  patience  to 
think  of,  and  which  would  break  the  hearts  of  your 
parents,  who  now  rejoice  in  the  expectation  of  see- 
ing you  make  a  figure  in  the  world." — *'I  know 
not,"  replied  Joseph,  ''that  my  parents  have  any 
power  over  my  inclinations ;  nor  am  I  obliged  to 
sacrifice  my  happiness  to  their  whim  or  ambition : 


208  THE  HISTORY  OF 

besides,  I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  see  that  the  un- 
expected advancement  of  my  sister  should  so  sud- 
denly inspire  them  with  this  wicked  pride,  and 
make  them  despise  their  equals.  I  am  resolved 
on  no  account  to  quit  my  dear  Fanny ;  no,  though 
I  could  raise  her  as  high  above  her  present  station 
as  you  have  raised  my  sister." — ''Your  sister,  as 
well  as  myself,"  said  Booby,  ''are  greatly  obliged 
to  you  for  the  comparison:  but,  sir,  she  is  not 
worthy  to  be  compared  in  beauty  to  my  Pamela ; 
nor  hath  she  half  her  merit.  And  besides,  sir, 
as  you  civilly  throw  my  marriage  with  your  sister 
in  my  teeth,  I  must  teach  you  the  wide  difference 
between  us :  my  fortune  enabled  me  to  please  my- 
self;  and  it  would  have  been  as  overgrown  a  folly 
in  me  to  have  omitted  it  as  in  you  to  do  it." — 
"My  fortune  enables  me  to  please  myself  like- 
wise," said  Joseph;  "for  all  my  pleasure  is  cen- 
tered in  Fanny;  and  whilst  I  have  health  I  shall 
be  able  to  support  her  with  my  labor  in  that  sta- 
tion to  which  she  was  born,  and  with  which  she 
is  content." — "Brother,"  said  Pamela,  "Mr. 
Booby  advises  you  as  a  friend;  and  no  doubt  my 
papa  and  mamma  will  be  of  his  opinion,  and  will 
have  great  reason  to  be  angry  with  you  for  de- 
stroying what  his  goodness  hath  done,  and  throw- 
ing down  our  family  again,  after  he  hath  raised  it. 
It  would  become  you  better,  brother,  to  pray  for 
the  assistance  of  grace  against  such  a  passion 
than  to  indulge  it." — "Sure,  sister,  you  are  not 
in  earnest;  I  am  sure  she  is  your  equal  at  least." 
— "She  was  my  equal,"  answered  Pamela;  "but 
I  am  no  longer  Pamela  Andrews;  I  am  now  this 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  209 

gentleman's  lady,  and,  as  such,  am  above  her. — 
I  hope  I  shall  never  behave  with  an  unbecoming 
pride:  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  shall  always  en- 
deavor to  know  myself,  and  question  not  the  as- 
sistance of  grace  to  that  purpose."  They  were 
now  summoned  to  breakfast,  and  thus  ended  their 
discourse  for  the  present,  very  little  to  the  satis- 
faction of  any  of  the  parties. 

Fanny  was  now  walking  in  an  avenue  at  some 
distance  from  the  house,  where  Joseph  had  prom- 
ised to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  coming  to  her. 
She  had  not  a  shilling  in  the  world,  and  had  sub- 
sisted ever  since  her  return  entirely  on  the  char- 
ity of  parson  Adams.  A  young  gentleman,  at- 
tended by  many  servants,  came  up  to  her,  and 
asked  her  if  that  was  not  the  Lady  Booby's  house 
before  him?  This,  indeed,  he  well  knew;  but  had 
framed  the  question  for  no  other  reason  than  to 
make  her  look  up,  and  discover  if  her  face  was 
equal  to  the  delicacy  of  her  shape.  He  no  sooner 
saw  it  than  he  was  struck  with  amazement.  He 
stopped  his  horse,  and  swore  she  was  the  most 
beautiful  creature  he  ever  beheld.  Then,  instant- 
ly alighting  and  delivering  his  horse  to  his  serv- 
ant, he  rapped  out  half-a-dozen  oaths  that  he 
would  kiss  her;  to  which  she  at  first  submitted, 
begging  he  would  not  be  rude;  but  he  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  civility  of  a  salute,  nor  even 
with  the  rudest  attack  he  could  make  on  her  lips, 
but  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  endeavored  to 
kiss  her  breasts,  which  with  all  her  strength  she 
resisted,  and,  as  our  spark  was  not  of  the  Her- 
culean race,  with  some  difficulty  prevented.     The 

11—14 


210  THE  HISTORY  OF 

young  gentleman,  being  soon  out  of  breath  in  the 
struggle,  quitted  her,  and,  remounting  his  horse, 
called  one  of  his  servants  to  him,  whom  he  ordered 
to  stay  behind  with  her,  and  make  her  any  offers 
whatever  to  prevail  on  her  to  return  home  with 
him  in  the  evening;  and  to  assure  her  he  would 
take  her  into  keeping.  He  then  rode  on  with  his 
other  servants,  and  arrived  at  the  lady's  house, 
to  whom  he  was  a  distant  relation,  and  was  come 
to  pay  a  visit. 

The  trusty  fellow,  who  was  employed  in  an  of- 
fice he  had  been  long  accustomed  to,  discharged 
his  part  with  all  the  fidelity  and  dexterity  imagi- 
nable, but  to  no  purpose.  She  was  entirely  deaf 
to  his  offers,  and  rejected  them  with  the  utmost 
disdain.  At  last  the  pimp,  who  had  perhaps  more 
warm  blood  about  him  than  his  master,  began  to 
solicit  for  himself;  he  told  her,  though  he  was  a 
servant,  he  was  a  man  of  some  fortune,  which  he 
would  make  her  mistress  of;  and  this  without  any 
insult  to  her  virtue,  for  that  he  would  marry  her. 
She  answered,  if  his  master  himself,  or  the  great- 
est lord  in  the  land,  would  marry  her,  she  would 
refuse  him.  At  last,,  being  weary  with  persua- 
sions, and  on  fire  with  charms  which  would  have 
almost  kindled  a  flame  in  the  bosom  of  an  ancient 
philosopher  or  modern  divine,  he  fastened  his 
horse  to  the  ground,  and  attacked  her  with  much 
more  force  than  the  gentleman  had  exerted.  Poor 
Fanny  would  not  have  been  able  to  resist  his  rude- 
ness a  short  time,  but  the  deity  who  presides  over 
chaste  love  sent  her  Joseph  to  her  assistance.  He 
no  sooner  came  within  sight,  and  perceived  her 
struggling  with  a  man,  than,  like  a  cannon-ball,  or 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  211 

like  lightning,  or  anything  that  is  swifter,  if  any- 
thing be,  he  ran  towards  her,  and,  coming  up  just 
as  the  ravisher  had  torn  her  handlcerchief  from 
her  breast,  before  his  lips  had  touched  that  seat 
of  innocence  and  bliss,  he  dealt  him  so  lusty  a 
blow  in  that  part  of  his  neck  which  a  rope  would 
have  become  with  the  utmost  propriety,  that  the 
fellow  staggered  backwards,  and,  perceiving  he 
had  to  do  with  something  rougher  than  the  little, 
tender,  trembling  hand  of  Fanny,  he  quitted  her, 
and,  turning  about,  saw  his  rival,  with  fire  flash- 
ing from  his  eyes,  again  ready  to  assail  him ;  and, 
indeed,  before  he  could  well  defend  himself,  or 
return  the  first  blow,  he  received  a  second,  which, 
had  it  fallen  on  that  part  of  the  stomach  to  which 
it  was  directed,  would  have  been  probably  the 
last  he  would  have  had  any  occasion  for ;  but  the 
ravisher,  lifting  up  his  hand,  drove  the  blow  up- 
wards to  his  mouth,  whence  it  dislodged  three  of 
his  teeth;  and  now,  not  conceiving  any  extraordi- 
nary affection  for  the  beauty  of  Joseph's  person, 
nor  being  extremely  pleased  with  this  method  of 
salutation,  he  collected  all  his  force,  and  aimed  a 
blow  at  Joseph's  breast,  which  he  artfully  parried 
with  one  fist,  so  that  it  lost  its  force  entirely  in 
air;  and,  stepping  one  foot  backward,  he  darted 
his  fist  so  fiercely  at  his  enemy,  that,  had  he  not 
caught  it  in  his  hand  (for  he  was  a  boxer  of  no 
inferior  fame),  it  must  have  tumbled  him  on  the 
ground.  And  now  the  ravisher  meditated  another 
blow,  which  he  aimed  at  that  part  of  the  breast 
where  the  heart  is  lodged;  Joseph  did  not  catch 
it  as  before,  yet  so  prevented  its  aim  that  it  fell 
directly  on  his  nose,  but  with  abated  force.  Joseph 


212  THE  HISTORY  OF 

then,  moving  both  fist  and  foot  forwards  at  the 
same  time,  threw  his  head  so  dexterously  into 
the  stomach  of  the  ravisher  that  he  fell  a  lifeless 
lump  on  the  field,  where  he  lay  many  minutes 
breathless  and  motionless. 

When  Fanny  saw  her  Joseph  receive  a  blow 
in  his  face,  and  blood  running  in  a  stream  from 
him,  she  began  to  tear  her  hair  and  invoke  all 
human  and  divine  power  to  his  assistance.  She 
was  not,  however,  long  under  this  affliction  be- 
fore Joseph,  having  conquered  his  enemy,  ran  to 
her,  and  assured  her  he  was  not  hurt;  she  then 
instantly  fell  on  her  knees,  and  thanked  God  that 
he  had  made  Joseph  the  means  of  her  rescue,  and 
at  the  same  time  preserved  him  from  being  in- 
jured in  attempting  it.  She  offered,  with  her 
handkerchief,  to  wipe  his  blood  from  his  face ;  but 
he,  seeing  his  rival  attempting  to  recover  his  legs, 
turned  to  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  enough? 
To  which  the  other  answered  he  had;  for  he  be- 
lieved he  had  fought  with  the  devil  instead  of  a 
man ;  and,  loosening  his  horse,  said  he  should  not 
have  attempted  the  wench  if  he  had  known  she  had 
been  so  well  provided  for. 

Fanny  now  begged  Joseph  to  return  with  her  to 
parson  Adams,  and  to  promise  that  he  would  leave 
her  no  more.  These  were  propositions  so  agree- 
able to  Joseph,  that,  had  he  heard  them,  he  would 
have  given  an  immediate  assent;  but  indeed  his 
eyes  were  now  his  only  sense ;  for  you  may  re- 
member, reader,  that  the  ravisher  had  tore  her 
handkerchief  from  Fanny's  neck,  by  which  he  had 
discovered  such  a  sight,  tliat  Joseph  hath  declared 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  213 

all  the  statues  he  ever  beheld  were  so  much  in- 
ferior to  it  in  beauty,  that  it  was  more  capable 
of  converting  a  man  into  a  statue  than  of  being 
imitated  by  the  greatest  master  of  that  art.  This 
modest  creature,  whom  no  warmth  in  summer 
could  ever  induce  to  expose  her  charms  to  the 
wanton  sun,  a  modesty  to  which,  perhaps,  they 
owed  their  inconceivable  whiteness,  had  stood 
many  minutes  bare-necked  in  the  presence  of 
Joseph  before  her  apprehension  of  his  danger 
and  the  horror  of  seeing  his  blood  would  suffer 
her  once  to  reflect  on  what  concerned  herself;  till 
at  last,  when  the  cause  of  her  concern  had  van- 
ished, an  admiration  at  his  silence,  together  with 
observing  the  fixed  position  of  his  eyes,  produced 
an  idea  in  the  lovely  maid  which  brought  more 
blood  into  her  face  than  had  flowed  from  Joseph's 
nostrils.  The  snowy  hue  of  her  bosom  was  like- 
wise changed  to  vermilion  at  the  instant  when  she 
clapped  her  handkerchief  round  her  neck.  Joseph 
saw  the  uneasiness  she  suffered,  and  immediately 
removed  his  eyes  from  an  object,  in  surveying 
which  he  had  felt  the  greatest  delight  which  the 
organs  of  sight  were  capable  of  conveying  to  his 
soul; — so  great  was  his  fear  of  offending  her,  and 
so  truly  did  his  passion  for  her  deserve  the  noble 
name  of  love. 

Fanny,  being  recovered  from  her  confusion, 
which  was  almost  equaled  by  what  Joseph  had 
felt  from  observing  it,  again  mentioned  her  re- 
quest; this  was  instantly  and  gladly  complied 
with;  and  together  they  crossed  two  or  three 
fields,  which  brought  them  to  the  habitation  of 
Mr.  Adams. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  discourse  which  happened  between  Mr.  Adams,  Mi's.  Adams, 
Joseph,  and  Fanny;  with  some  behavior  of  Mr.  Adams 
which  will  be  called  by  some  few  readers  very  low,  ab- 
surd, and  unnatural. 

THE  parson  and  his  wife  had  just  ended 
a  long  dispute  when  the  lovers  came  to 
the  door.  Indeed,  this  young  couple  had 
been  the  subject  of  the  dispute;  for  Mrs.  Adams 
was  one  of  those  prudent  people  who  never  do 
anything  to  injure  their  families,  or,  perhaps,  one 
of  those  good  mothers  who  would  even  stretch 
their  conscience  to  serve  their  children.  She  had 
long  entertained  hopes  of  seeing  her  eldest  daugh- 
ter succeed  Mrs.  Slipslop,  and  of  making  her  sec- 
ond son  an  exciseman  by  Lady  Booby's  interest. 
These  were  expectations  she  could  not  endure  the 
thoughts  of  quitting,  and  was,  therefore,  very  un- 
easy to  see  her  husband  so  resolute  to  oppose  the 
lady's  intention  in  Fanny's  affair.  She  told  him, 
**It  behooved  every  man  to  take  the  first  care  of 
his  family ;  that  he  had  a  wife  and  six  children,  the 
maintaining  and  providing  for  whom  would  be 
business  enough  for  him  without  intermeddling  in 
other  folks'  affairs;  that  he  had  always  jDreached 
up  submission  to  superiors,  and  would  do  ill  to 
give  an  example  of  the  contrary  behavior  in  his 
own  conduct;  that  if  Lady  Booby  did  wrong  she 

214 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  215 

must  answer  for  it  herself,  and  the  sin  would  not 
lie  at  their  door ;  that  Fanny  had  been  a  servant, 
and  bred  up  in  the  lady's  own  family,  and  conse- 
quently she  must  have  known  more  of  her  than 
they  did,  and  it  was  very  improbable,  if  she  had 
behaved  herself  well,  that  the  lady  would  have 
been  so  bitterly  her  enemy;  that  perhaps  he  was 
too  much  inclined  to  think  well  of  her  because  she 
was  handsome,  but  handsome  women  were  often 
no  better  than  they  should  be ;  that  G —  made  ugly 
women  as  well  as  handsome  ones;  and  that  if  a 
woman  had  virtue  it  signified  nothing  whether 
she  had  beauty  or  no. ' '  For  all  which  reasons  she 
concluded  he  should  oblige  the  lady,  and  stop  the 
future  publication  of  the  banns.  But  all  these  ex- 
cellent arguments  had  no  effect  on  the  parson, 
who  persisted  in  doing  his  duty  without  regarding 
the  consequence  it  might  have  on  his  worldly  in- 
terest. He  endeavored  to  answer  her  as  well  as 
he  could ;  to  which  she  had  just  finished  her  reply 
(for  she  had  always  the  last  word  everywhere 
but  at  church)  when  Joseph  and  Fanny  entered 
their  kitchen,  where  the  parson  and  his  wife  then 
sat  at  breakfast  over  some  bacon  and  cabbage. 
There  was  a  coldness  in  the  civility  of  Mrs.  Adams 
which  persons  of  accurate  speculation  might  have 
observed,  but  escaped  her  present  guests ;  indeed, 
it  was  a  good  deal  covered  by  the  heartiness  of 
Adams,  who  no  sooner  heard  that  Fanny  had 
neither  eat  nor  drank  that  morning  than  he  pre- 
sented her  a  bone  of  bacon  he  had  just  been  gnaw- 
ing, being  the  only  remains  of  his  provision,  and 
then  ran  nimbly  to  the  tap,  and  produced  a  mug 


216  THE  HISTORY  OP 

of  small  beer,  which  he  called  ale ;  however,  it  was 
the  best  in  his  house.  Joseph,  addressing  himself 
to  the  parson,  told  him  the  discourse  which  had 
passed  between  Squire  Booby,  his  sister,  and  him- 
self concerning  Fanny;  he  then  acquainted  him 
with  the  dangers  whence  he  had  rescued  her,  and 
communicated  some  apprehensions  on  her  ac- 
count. He  concluded  that  he  should  never  have 
an  easy  moment  till  Fanny  was  absolutely  his,  and 
begged  that  he  might  be  suffered  to  fetch  a  license, 
saying  he  could  easily  borrow  the  money.  The 
parson  answered,  That  he  had  already  given  his 
sentiments  concerning  a  license,  and  that  a  very 
few  days  would  make  it  unnecessary.  "Joseph," 
says  he,  "I  wish  this  haste  doth  not  arise  rather 
from  your  im^Datience  than  your  fear;  but,  as  it 
certainly  springs  from  one  of  these  causes,  I  will 
examine  both.  Of  each  of  these  therefore  in  their 
turn;  and  first  for  the  first  of  these,  namely,  im- 
patience. Now,  child,  I  must  inform  you  that,  if 
in  your  purposed  marriage  with  this  young 
woman  you  have  no  intention  but  the  indulgence 
of  carnal  appetites,  you  are  guilty  of  a  very  hei- 
nous sin.  Marriage  was  ordained  for  nobler  pur- 
poses, as  you  will  learn  when  you  hear  the  service 
provided  on  that  occasion  read  to  you.  Nay,  per- 
haps, if  you  are  a  good  lad,  I,  child,  shall  give  you 
a  sermon  gratis,  wherein  I  shall  demonstrate  how 
little  regard  ought  to  be  had  to  the  flesh  on  such 
occasions.  The  text  will  be  Matthew  the  5th,  and 
part  of  the  28th  verse — Whosoever  looketh  on  a 
woman,  so  as  to  lust  after  her.  The  latter  part 
I  shall  omit,  as  foreign  to  my  purpose.     Indeed, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  217 

all  such  brutal  lusts  and  affections  are  to  be  great- 
ly subdued,  if  not  totally  eradicated,  before  the 
vessel  can  be  said  to  be  consecrated  to  honor.    To 
marry  with  a  view  of  gratifying  those  inclinations 
is  a  prostitution  of  that  holy  ceremony,  and  must 
entail  a  curse  on  all  who  so  lightly  undertake  it. 
If,  therefore,  this  haste  arises  from  impatience, 
you  are  to  correct,  and  not  give  way  to  it.     Now, 
as  to  the  second  head  which  I  proposed  to  speak 
to,  namely,  fear:  it  argues  a  diffidence,  highly 
criminal,  of  that  Power  in  which  alone  we  should 
put  our  trust,  seeing  we  may  be  well  assured  that 
he  is  able,  not  only  to  defeat  the  designs  of  our 
enemies,  but  even  to  turn  their  hearts.    Instead 
of  taking,  therefore,  any  unjustifiable  or  desperate 
means  to  rid  ourselves  of  fear,  we  should  resort 
to  prayer  only  on  these  occasions;  and  we  may 
be  then  certain  of  obtaining  what  is  best  for  us. 
When  any  accident  threatens  us  we  are  not  to 
despair,  nor,  when  it  overtakes  us,  to  grieve;  we 
must  submit  in  all  things  to  the  will  of  Providence, 
and  set  our  affections  so  much  on  nothing  here 
that  we  cannot  quit  it  without  reluctance.     You 
are  a  young  man,  and  can  know  but  little  of  this 
world;  I  am  older,  and  have  seen  a  great  deal. 
All  passions  are  criminal  in  their  excess ;  and  even 
love  itself,  if  it  is  not  subservient  to  our  duty,  may 
render  us  blind  to  it.    Had  Abraham  so  loved  his 
son  Isaac  as  to  refuse  the  sacrifice  required,  is 
there  any  of  us  who  would  not  condemn  him? 
Joseph,  I  know  your  many  good  qualities,  and 
value  you  for  them;  but,  as  I  am  to  render  an 
account  of  your  soul,  which  is  committed  to  my 


218  THE  HISTORY  OF 

cure,  I  cannot  see  any  fault  without  reminding  you 
of  it.  You  are  too  much  inclined  to  passion,  child, 
and  have  set  your  affections  so  absolutely  on  this 
young  woman,  that,  if  G —  required  her  at  your 
hands,  I  fear  you  would  reluctantly  part  with  her. 
Now,  believe  me,  no  Christian  ought  so  to  set  his 
heart  on  any  person  or  thing  in  this  world,  but 
that,  whenever  it  shall  be  required  or  taken  from 
him  in  any  manner  by  Divine  Providence,  he  may 
be  able,  peaceably,  quietly,  and  contentedly  to 
resign  it."  At  which  words  one  came  hastily  in, 
and  acquainted  Mr.  Adams  that  his  youngest  son 
was  drowned.  He  stood  silent  a  moment,  and 
soon  began  to  stamp  about  the  room  and  dej^lore 
his  loss  with  the  bitterest  agony.  Joseph,  who 
was  overwhelmed  with  concern  likewise,  recovered 
himself  sufficiently  to  endeavor  to  comfort  the 
parson ;  in  which  attempt  he  used  many  arguments 
that  he  had  at  several  times  remembered  out  of 
his  own  discourses,  both  in  private  and  public 
(for  he  was  a  great  enemy  to  the  passions,  and 
preached  nothing  more  than  the  conquest  of  them 
by  reason  and  grace),  but  he  was  not  at  leisure 
now  to  hearken  to  his  advice.  ''Child,  child,'* 
said  he,  ''do  not  go  about  impossibilities.  Had  it 
been  any  other  of  my  children  I  could  have  borne 
it  with  patience ;  but  my  little  prattler,  the  darling 
and  comfort  of  my  old  age — the  little  wretch, 
to  be  snatched  out  of  life  just  at  his  entrance  into 
it ;  the  sweetest,  best-tempered  boy,  who  never  did 
a  thing  to  offend  me.  It  was  but  this  morning  I 
gave  him  his  first  lesson  in  Qiiw  Genus.  This  was 
the  very  book  he  learned;  poor  child!  it  is  of  no 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  219 

further  use  to  thee  now.  He  would  have  made 
the  best  scholar,  and  have  been  an  ornament  to 
the  Church ; — such  parts  and  such  goodness  never 
met  in  one  so  young."  "And  the  handsomest 
lad  too,"  says  Mrs.  Adams,  recovering  from  a 
swoon  in  Fanny's  arms.  ''My  poor  Jacky,  shall 
I  never  see  thee  moreT'  cries  the  parson.  ''Yes, 
surely,"  says  Joseph,  "and  in  a  better  place;  you 
will  meet  again,  never  to  part  more."  I  believe 
the  parson  did  not  hear  these  words,  for  he  paid 
little  regard  to  them,  but  went  on  lamenting,  whilst 
the  tears  trickled  down  into  his  bosom.  At  last 
he  cried  out,  "Where  is  my  little  darling?"  and 
was  sallying  out,  when  to  his  great  surprise  and 
joy,  in  which  I  hope  the  reader  will  sympathize, 
he  met  his  son  in  a  wet  condition  indeed,  but 
alive  and  running  towards  him.  The  person  who 
brought  the  news  of  his  misfortune  had  been  a  lit- 
tle too  eager,  as  people  sometimes  are,  from,  I 
believe,  no  very  good  principle,  to  relate  ill  news ; 
and,  seeing  him  fall  into  the  river,  instead  of 
running  to  his  assistance,  directly  ran  to  acquaint 
his  father  of  a  fate  which  he  had  concluded  to  be 
inevitable,  but  whence  the  child  was  relieved  by 
the  same  poor  peddler  who  had  relieved  his  father 
before  from  a  less  distress.  The  parson's  joy 
was  now  as  extravagant  as  his  grief  had  been 
before ;  he  kissed  and  embraced  his  son  a  thousand 
times,  and  danced  about  the  room  like  one  frantic ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  discovered  the  face  of  his  old 
friend  the  peddler,  and  heard  the  fresh  obligation 
he  had  to  him,  what  were  his  sensations  f  not  those 
which  two  courtiers  feel  in  one  another's  em- 


220  THE  HISTORY  OF 

braces ;  not  those  with  which  a  great  man  receives 
the  vile  treacherous  engines  of  his  wicked  pur- 
poses, not  those  with  which  a  worthless  younger 
brother  wishes  his  elder  joy  of  a  son,  or  a  man 
congratulates  his  rival  on  his  obtaining  a  mistress, 
a  place,  or  an  honor. — No,  reader ;  he  felt  the  ebul- 
lition, the  overflowings  of  a  full,  honest,  open 
heart,  towards  the  person  who  had  conferred  a 
real  obligation,  and  of  which,  if  thou  canst  not 
conceive  an  idea  within,  I  will  not  vainly  endeavor 
to  assist  thee. 

When  these  tumults  were  over,  the  parson,  tak- 
ing Joseph  aside,  proceeded  thus — *'No,  Joseph, 
do  not  give  too  much  way  to  thy  passions,  if  thou 
dost  expect  happiness."  The  patience  of  Joseph, 
nor  perhaps  of  Job,  could  bear  no  longer;  he  in- 
terrupted the  parson,  saying,  "It  was  easier  to 
give  advice  than  take  it;  nor  did  he  perceive  he 
could  so  entirely  conquer  himself,  when  he  appre- 
hended he  had  lost  his  son,  or  when  he  found  him 
recovered." — "Boy,"  replied  Adams,  raising  his 
voice,  "it  doth  not  become  green  heads  to  advise 
gray  hairs, — Thou  art  ignorant  of  the  tenderness 
of  fatherly  affection ;  when  thou  art  a  father  thou 
wilt  be  capable  then  only  of  knowing  what  a  father 
can  feel.  No  man  is  obliged  to  impossibilities; 
and  the  loss  of  a  child  is  one  of  those  great  trials 
where  our  grief  may  be  allowed  to  become  immod- 
erate."— "Well,  sir,"  cries  Joseph,  "and  if  I 
love  a  mistress  as  well  as  you  your  child,  surely 
her  loss  would  grieve  me  equally." — "Yes,  but 
such  love  is  foolishness  and  wrong  in  itself,  and 
ought  to  be  conquered,"  answered  Adams;  "it 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  221 

savors  too  much  of  the  flesh." — ''Sure,  sir,"  says 
Joseph,  "it  is  not  sinful  to  love  my  wife,  no,  not 
even  to  dote  on  her  to  distraction  I " — ''Indeed  but 
it  is,"  says  Adams.  "Every  man  ought  to  love 
his  wife,  no  doubt;  we  are  commanded  so  to  do; 
but  we  ought  to  love  her  with  moderation  and 
discretion." — "I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  guilty  of 
some  sin  in  spite  of  all  my  endeavors,"  says 
Joseph ; ' '  for  I  shall  love  without  any  moderation, 
I  am  sure." — "You  talk  foolishly  and  childishly," 
cries  Adams. — "Indeed,"  says  Mrs.  Adams,  who 
had  listened  to  the  latter  part  of  their  conversa- 
tion, "you  talk  more  foolishly  yourself.  I  hope, 
my  dear,  you  will  never  preach  any  such  doctrine 
as  that  husbands  can  love  their  wives  too  well. 
If  I  knew  you  had  such  a  sermon  in  the  house  I 
am  sure  I  would  burn  it,  and  I  declare,  if  I  had 
not  been  convinced  you  had  loved  me  as  well  as 
you  could,  I  can  answer  for  myself,  I  should  have 
hated  and  despised  you.  Marry  come  up !  Fine 
doctrine,  indeed!  A  wife  hath  a  right  to  insist 
on  her  husband's  loving  her  as  much  as  ever  he 
can ;  and  he  is  a  sinful  villain  who  doth  not.  Doth 
he  not  promise  to  love  her,  and  to  comfort  her,  and 
to  cherish  her,  and  all  that?  I  am  sure  I  remem- 
ber it  all  as  well  as  if  I  had  repeated  it  over  but 
yesterday,  and  shall  never  forget  it.  Besides,  I 
am  certain  you  do  not  preach  as  you  practice;  for 
you  have  been  a  loving  and  a  cherishing  husband 
to  me;  that's  the  truth  on't;  and  why  you  should 
endeavor  to  put  such  wicked  nonsense  into  this 
young  man's  head  I  cannot  devise.  Don't  heark- 
en to  him,  Mr.  Joseph;  be  as  good  a  husband  as 


222  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

you  are  able,  and  love  your  wife  with  all  your 
body  and  soul  too."  Here  a  violent  rap  at  the 
door  put  an  end  to  their  discourse,  and  produced 
a  scene  which  the  reader  will  find  in  the  next  chap- 
ter. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  visit  which  the  polite  Lady  Booby  and  her  polite  friend  paid 
to  the  parson. 

THE  Lady  Booby  liad  no  sooner  had  an 
account  from  the  gentleman  of  his  meet- 
ing a  wonderful  beauty  near  her  house, 
and  perceived  the  raptures  with  which  he  spoke 
of  her,  than,  immediately  concluding  it  must  be 
Fanny,  she  began  to  meditate  a  design  of  bringing 
them  better  acquainted;  and  to  entertain  hopes 
that  the  fine  clothes,  presents,  and  promises  of  this 
youth,  would  prevail  on  her  to  abandon  Joseph: 
she  therefore  proposed  to  her  company  a  walk 
in  the  fields  before  dinner,  when  she  led  them  to- 
wards Mr.  Adams's  house ;  and,  as  she  approached 
it,  told  them  if  they  pleased  she  would  divert  them 
with  one  of  the  most  ridiculous  sights  they  had 
ever  seen,  which  was  an  old  foolish  parson,  who, 
she  said,  laughing,  kept  a  wife  and  six  brats  on 
a  salary  of  about  twenty  pounds  a  year ;  adding, 
that  there  was  not  such  another  ragged  family 
in  the  parish.  They  all  readily  agreed  to  this 
visit,  and  arrived  whilst  Mrs.  Adams  was  declaim- 
ing as  in  the  last  chapter.  Beau  Didapper,  which 
was  the  name  of  the  young  gentleman  we  have 
seen  riding  towards  Lady  Booby's,  with  his  cane 
mimicked  the  rap  of  a  London  footman  at  the  door. 
The  people  within,  namely,  Adams,  his  wife  and 

223 


224  THE  HISTORY  OF 

three  children,  Joseph,  Fanny,  and  the  peddler, 
were  all  thrown  into  confusion  by  this  knock,  but 
Adams  went  directly  to  the  door,  which  being 
opened,  the  Lady  Booby  and  her  company  walked 
in,  and  were  received  by  the  parson  with  about 
two  hundred  bows,  and  by  his  wife  with  as  many 
courtesies;  the  latter  telling  the  lady  "She  was 
ashamed  to  be  seen  in  such  a  pickle,  and  that  her 
house  was  in  such  a  litter;  but  that  if  she  had 
expected  such  an  honor  from  her  ladyship  she 
should  have  found  her  in  a  better  manner."  The 
parson  made  no  apologies,  though  he  was  in  his 
half-cassock  and  a  flannel  nightcap.  He  said 
"They  were  heartily  welcome  to  his  poor  cot- 
tage," and  turning  to  Mr.  Didapper,  cried  out, 
"Non  mea  renidet  in  domo  lacunar."  The  beau 
answered,  "He  did  not  understand  AVelsh;"  at 
which  the  parson  stared  and  made  no  reply. 

Mr.  Didapper,  or  beau  Didapper,  was  a  young 
gentleman  of  about  four  foot  five  inches  in  height. 
He  wore  his  own  hair,  though  the  scarcity  of  it 
might  have  given  him  sufficient  excuse  for  a  peri- 
wig. His  face  was  thin  and  pale ;  the  shape  of  his 
body  and  legs  none  of  the  best,  for  he  had  very 
narrow  shoulders  and  no  calf;  and  his  gait  might 
more  properly  be  called  hopping  than  walking. 
The  qualifications  of  his  mind  were  well  adapted 
to  his  person.  We  shall  handle  them  first  nega- 
tively. He  was  not  entirely  ignorant;  for  he 
could  talk  a  little  French  and  sing  two  or  three 
Italian  songs ;  he  had  lived  too  much  in  the  world 
to  be  bashful,  and  too  much  at  court  to  be  proud : 
he  seemed  not  much  inclined  to  avarice,  for  he 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  225 

was  profuse  in  his  expenses;  nor  had  he  all  the 
features  of  prodigality,  for  he  never  gave  a  shil- 
ling: no  hater  of  women,  for  he  always  dangled 
after  them;  yet  so  little  subject  to  lust,  that  he 
had,  among  those  who  knew  him  best,  the  charac- 
ter of  great  moderation  in  his  pleasures ;  no  drink- 
er of  wine ;  nor  so  addicted  to  passion  but  that  a 
hot  word  or  two  from  an  adversary  made  him 
immediately  cool. 

Now,  to  give  him  only  a  dash  or  two  on  the  af- 
firmative side :  though  he  was  born  to  an  immense 
fortune,  he  chose,  for  the  pitiful  and  dirty  con- 
sideration of  a  place  of  little  consequence,  to  de- 
pend entirely  on  the  will  of  a  fellow  whom  they 
call  a  great  man;  who  treated  him  with  the  ut- 
most disrespect,  and  exacted  of  him  a  plenary 
obedience  to  his  commands,  which  he  implicitly 
submitted  to,  at  the  expense  of  his  conscience,  his 
honor,  and  of  his  country,  in  which  he  had  himself 
so  very  large  a  share.  And  to  finish  his  charac- 
ter ;  as  he  was  entirely  well  satisfied  with  his  own 
person  and  parts,  so  he  was  very  apt  to  ridicule 
and  laugh  at  any  imperfection  in  another.  Such 
was  the  little  person,  or  rather  thing,  that  hopped 
after  Lady  Booby  into  Mr.  Adams's  kitchen. 

The  parson  and  his  company  retreated  from  the 
chimney-side,  where  they  had  been  seated,  to  give 
room  to  the  lady  and  hers.  Instead  of  returning 
any  of  the  courtesies  or  extraordinary  civility  of 
Mrs.  Adams,  the  lady,  turning  to  Mr.  Booby,  cried 
out,  ^'Quelle  Bete!  Quel  Animal!"  And  pres- 
ently after  discovering  Fanny  (for  she  did  not 
need  the  circumstance  of  her  standing  by  Joseph 

11—15 


226  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  assure  the  identity  of  her  person),  she  asked 
the  beau  ''Whether  he  did  not  think  her  a  pretty 
girl?" — ''Begad,  madam,"  answered  he,  "  'tis  the 
very  same  I  met."  "I  did  not  imagine,"  replied 
the  lady,  "you  had  so  good  a  taste." — "Because 
I  never  liked  you,  I  warrant,"  cries  the  beau. 
"Ridiculous I"  said  she:  "you  know  you  was  al- 
ways my  aversion."  "I  would  never  mention 
aversion,"  answered  the  beau,  "with  that  face;  ^ 
dear  Lady  Booby,  wash  your  face  before  you  men- 
tion aversion,  I  beseech  you."  He  then  laughed, 
and  turned  about  to  coquet  it  with  Fanny. 

Mrs.  Adams  had  been  all  this  time  begging  and 
praying  the  ladies  to  sit  down,  a  favor  which  she 
at  last  obtained.  The  little  boy  to  whom  the  acci- 
dent had  happened,  still  keeping  his  place  by  the 
fire,  was  chid  by  his  mother  for  not  being  more 
mannerly:  but  Lady  Booby  took  his  part,  and, 
commending  his  beauty,  told  the  parson  he  was  his 
very  picture.  She  then,  seeing  a  book  in  his  hand, 
asked  "If  he  could  read?" — "Yes,"  cried  Adams, 
"a  little  Latin,  madam:  he  is  just  got  into  Quee 
Genus." — "A  fig  for  quere  genius  I"  answered 
she;  "let  me  hear  him  read  a  little  English." — 
"Lege,  Dick,  lege,"  said  Adams :  but  the  boy  made 
no  answer,  till  he  saw  the  parson  knit  his  brows, 
and  then  cried,  "I  don't  understand  you,  father." 
— "How,  boy!"  says  Adams;  "what  doth  lego 
make  in  the  imperative  mood?  Legito,  doth  it 
not?" — "Yes,"  answered  Dick. — "And  what  be- 

1  Lest  this  should  appear  unnatural  to  some  readers,  we  think 
proper  to  acquaint  them,  that  it  is  taken  verbatim  from  very 
polite  conversation. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  227 

sides?"  says  the  father.  ''Lege,"  quoth  the  son, 
after  some  hesitation.  *'A  good  boy,"  says  the 
father:  ''and  now,  child,  what  is  the  English  of 
lego?" — To  which  the  boy,  after  long  puzzling, 
answered,  he  could  not  tell.  "How!"  cries 
Adams,  in  a  passion; — "what,  hath  the  water 
washed  away  your  learning?  Why,  what  is  Latin 
for  the  English  verb  read?  Consider  before  you 
speak."  The  child  considered  some  time,  and 
then  the  parson  cried  twice  or  thrice,  "Le — , 
Le — ."  Dick  answered,  "Lego." — "Very  well; 
— and  then  what  is  the  English,"  says  the  parson, 
"of  the  verb  lego?" — "To  read,"  cried  Dick. — 
"Very  well,"  said  the  parson;  "a  good  boy:  you 
can  do  well  if  you  will  take  pains. — I  assure  your 
ladyship  he  is  not  much  above  eight  years  old, 
and  is  out  of  his  Propria  quae  Maribus  already. — 
Come,  Dick,  read  to  her  ladyship;" — which  she 
again  desiring,  in  order  to  give  the  beau  time  and 
opportunity  with  Fanny,  Dick  began  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing chapter. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  history  of  two  friends,  which  may  afford  an  useful  lesson 
to  all  those  persons  who  happen  to  take  up  their  resi- 
dence in  married  families. 


L 


^'^  EONARD  and  Paul  were  two  friends." 
— ''Pronounce  it  Lennard,  child,"  cried 
the  parson. — ' '  Pray,  Mr.  Adams, ' '  says 
Lady  Booby,  "let  your  son  read  without  inter- 
ruption." Dick  then  proceeded.  "Lennard  and 
Paul  were  two  friends,  who,  having  been  educated 
together  at  the  same  school,  commenced  a  friend- 
ship which  they  preserved  a  long  time  for  each 
other.  It  was  so  deeply  fixed  in  both  their  minds, 
that  a  long  absence,  during  which  they  had  main- 
tained no  correspondence,  did  not  eradicate  nor 
lessen  it:  but  it  revived  in  all  its  force  at  their 
first  meeting,  which  was  not  till  after  fifteen  years' 
absence,  most  of  which  time  Lennard  had  spent  in 
the  East  ludi-es." — "Pronounce  it  short,  Indies," 

says  Adams. "Pray,  sir,  be  quiet,"  says  the 

lady. — The  boy  repeated — "in  the  East  Indies, 
whilst  Paul  had  served  his  king  and  country  in 
the  army.  In  which  different  services  they  had 
found  such  different  success,  that  Lennard  was 
now  married,  and  retired  with  a  fortune  of  thirty 
thousand  pounds;  and  Paul  was  arrived  to  the 
degree  of  a  lieutenant  of  foot ;  and  was  not  worth 
a  single  shilling. 

228 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  229 

''The  regiment  in  which  Paul  was  stationed 
happened  to  be  ordered  into  quarters  within  a 
small  distance  from  the  estate  which  Lennard 
had  purchased,  and  where  he  was  settled.  This 
latter,  who  was  now  become  a  country  gentleman, 
and  a  justice  of  the  peace,  came  to  attend  the 
quarter  sessions  in  the  town  where  his  old  friend 
was  quartered,  soon  after  his  arrival.  Some  af- 
fair in  which  a  soldier  was  concerned  occasioned 
Paul  to  attend  the  justices.  Manhood,  and  time, 
and  the  change  of  climate,  had  so  much  altered 
Lennard,  that  Paul  did  not  immediately  recollect 
the  features  of  his  old  acquaintance:  but  it  was 
otherwise  with  Lennard.  He  knew  Paul  the 
moment  he  saw  him;  nor  could  he  contain  him- 
self from  quitting  the  bench,  and  running  hastily 
to  embrace  him.  Paul  stood  at  first  a  little  sur- 
prised; but  had  soon  sufficient  information  from 
his  friend,  whom  he  no  sooner  remembered  than 
he  returned  his  embrace  with  a  passion  which 
made  many  of  the  spectators  laugh,  and  gave 
to  some  few  a  much  higher  and  more  agreeable 
sensation. 

''Not  to  detain  the  reader  with  minute  cir- 
cumstances, Lennard  insisted  on  his  friend's  re- 
turning with  him  to  his  house  that  evening ;  which 
request  was  complied  with,  and  leave  for  a 
month's  absence  for  Paul  obtained  of  the  com- 
manding officer. 

"If  it  was  possible  for  any  circumstance  to  give 
any  addition  to  the  happiness  which  Paul  pro- 
posed in  this  visit,  he  received  that  additional 
pleasure  by  finding,  on  his  arrival  at  his  friend's 


230  THE  HISTORY  OF 

liousej  tliat  his  lady  was  an  old  acquaintance 
which  he  had  formerly  contracted  at  his  quarters, 
and  who  had  always  appeared  to  be  of  a  most 
agreeable  temper ;  a  character  she  had  ever  main- 
tained among  her  intimates,  being  of  that  number, 
every  individual  of  which  is  called  quite  the  best 
sort  of  woman  in  the  world. 

''But,  good  as  this  lady  was,  she  was  still  a 
woman;  that  is  to  say,  an  angel,  and  not  an 
angel." — "You  must  mistake,  child,"  cries  the 
parson,  "for  you  read  nonsense." — "It  is  so  in 
the  book,"  answered  the  son.  Mr.  Adams  was 
then  silenced  by  authority,  and  Dick  proceeded 
— "For  though  her  person  was  of  that  kind  to 
which  men  attribute  the  name  of  angel,  yet  in 
her  mind  she  was  perfectly  woman.  Of  which 
a  great  degree  of  obstinacy  gave  the  most  re- 
markable and  perhaps  most  pernicious  instance. 

"A  day  or  two  passed  after  Paul's  arrival 
before  any  instances  of  this  appeared ;  but  it  was 
impossible  to  conceal  it  long.  Both  she  and  her 
husband  soon  lost  all  apprehension  from  their 
friend's  presence,  and  fell  to  their  disputes  with 
as  much  vigor  as  ever.  These  were  still  pursued 
with  the  utmost  ardor  and  eagerness,  however 
trifling  the  causes  were  whence  they  first  arose. 
Nay,  however  incredible  it  may  seem,  the  little 
consequence  of  the  matter  in  debate  was  fre- 
quently given  as  a  reason  for  the  fierceness  of 
the  contention,  as  thus:  'If  you  loved  me,  sure 
you  would  never  dispute  with  me  such  a  trifle  as 
this.*  The  answer  to  which  is  very  obvious;  for 
the  argument  would  hold  equally  on  both  sides, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  231 

and  was  constantly  retorted  with  some  addition, 
as — 'I  am  sure  I  have  much  more  reason  to  say 
so,  who  am  in  the  right.'  During  all  these  dis- 
putes, Paul  always  kept  strict  silence,  and  pre- 
served an  even  countenance,  without  showing  the 
least  visible  inclination  to  either  party.  One  day, 
however,  when  madam  had  left  the  room  in  a 
violent  fury,  Lennard  could  not  refrain  from  re- 
ferring his  cause  to  his  friend.  Was  ever  any- 
thing so  unreasonable,  says  he,  as  this  woman? 
What  shall  I  do  with  her?  I  dote  on  her  to  dis- 
traction; nor  have  I  any  cause  to  complain  of, 
more  than  this  obstinacy  in  her  temper;  what- 
ever she  asserts,  she  will  maintain  against  all 
the  reason  and  conviction  in  the  world.  Pray 
give  me  your  advice. — First,  says  Paul,  I  will 
give  my  opinion,  which  is,  flatly,  that  you  are  in 
the  wrong;  for,  supposing  she  is  in  the  wrong, 
was  the  subject  of  your  contention  any  ways 
material?  What  signified  it  whether  you  was 
married  in  a  red  or  a  yellow  waistcoat?  for  that 
was  your  dispute.  Now,  suppose  she  was  mis- 
taken; as  you  love  her  you  say  so  tenderly,  and 
I  believe  she  deserves  it,  would  it  not  have  been 
wiser  to  have  yielded,  though  you  certainly  knew 
yourself  in  the  right,  than  to  give  either  her  or 
yourself  any  uneasiness.  For  my  own  part,  if 
ever  I  marry,  I  am  resolved  to  enter  into  an 
agreement  with  my  wife,  that  in  all  disputes 
(especially  about  trifles)  that  party  who  is  most 
convinced  they  are  right  shall  always  surrender 
the  victory;  by  which  means  we  shall  both  be 
forward  to  give  up  the  cause.    I  own,  said  Len- 


232  THE  HISTORY  OF 

nard,  my  dear  friend,  shaking  him  by  the  hand, 
there  is  great  truth  and  reason  in  what  you  say; 
and  I  will  for  the  future  endeavor  to  follow  your 
advice.  They  soon  after  broke  up  the  conversa- 
tion, and  Lennard,  going  to  his  wife,  asked  her 
pardon,  and  told  her  his  friend  had  convinced 
him  he  had  been  in  the  wrong.  She  immediately 
began  a  vast  encomium  on  Paul,  in  which  he 
seconded  her,  and  both  agreed  he  was  the  wor- 
thiest and  wisest  man  upon  earth.  When  next 
they  met,  which  was  at  supper,  though  she  had 
promised  not  to  mention  what  her  husband 
told  her,  she  could  not  forbear  casting  the  kindest 
and  most  affectionate  looks  on  Paul,  and  asked 
him,  with  the  sweetest  voice,  whether  she  should 
help  him  to  some  potted  woodcock"?  Potted  par- 
tridge, my  dear,  you  mean,  says  the  husband. 
My  dear,  says  she,  I  ask  your  friend  if  he  will 
eat  any  potted  woodcock;  and  I  am  sure  I  must 
know,  who  potted  it.  I  think  I  should  know  too, 
who  shot  them,  replied  the  husband,  and  I  am 
convinced  that  I  have  not  seen  a  woodcock  this 
year;  however,  though  I  know  I  am  in  the  right, 
I  submit,  and  the  potted  partridge  is  potted  wood- 
cock if  you  desire  to  have  it  so.  It  is  equal  to 
me,  says  she,  whether  it  is  one  or  the  other;  but 
you  would  persuade  one  out  of  one's  senses;  to 
be  sure,  you  are  always  in  the  right  in  your 
own  opinion;  but  your  friend,  I  believe,  knows 
which  he  is  eating.  Paul  answered  nothing,  and 
the  dispute  continued,  as  usual,  the  greatest  part 
of  the  evening.  The  next  morning  the  lady,  ac- 
cidentally meeting  Paul,  and  being  convinced  he 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  233 

was  her  friend,  and  of  her  side,  accosted  him, 
thus: — I  am  certain,   sir,   you  have   long  since 
wondered  at  the  unreasonableness  of  my  husband. 
He  is  indeed,  in  other  respects,  a  good  sort  of 
man,  but   so  positive,  that  no  woman  but  one 
of  my  complying  temper  could  possibly  live  with 
him.    Why,  last  night,  now,  was  ever  any  creature 
so  unreasonable?     I  am  certain  you  must  con- 
demn him.    Pray,  answer  me,  was  he  not  in  the 
wrong?     Paul,   after  a   short   silence,   spoke  as 
follows:  I  am  sorry,  madam,  that,  as  good  man- 
ners obliges  me  to  answer  against  my  will,  so 
an  adherence  to  truth  forces  me  to  declare  my- 
self  of   a   different   opinion.     To   be   plain   and 
honest,  you  was  entirely  in  the  wrong;  the  cause 
I  own  not  worth  disputing,  but  the  bird  was  un- 
doubtedly a  partridge.     0  sir!  replied  the  lady, 
I  cannot  possibly  help  your  taste.     Madam,  re- 
turned  Paul,   that  is   very  little  material ;   for, 
had  it  been   otherwise,   a   husband   might  have 
expected   submission. — Indeed!   sir,   says   she,   I 
assure  you! — Yes,  madam,   cried  he,  he  might, 
from  a  person  of  your  excellent  understanding; 
and  pardon  me  for  saying,  such  a  condescension 
would  have  shown  a  superiority  of  sense  even  to 
your  husband  himself. — But,  dear  sir,  said  she, 
why  should  I  submit  when  I  am  in  the  right? 
— For  that  very  reason,  answered  he;  it  would 
be  the  greatest  instance  of  affection  imaginable; 
for  can  anything  be  a  greater  object  of  our  com- 
passion than  a  person  we  love  in  the  wrong?     Ay, 
but  I  should  endeavor,  said  she,  to  set  him  right. 
Pardon  me,  madam,  answered  Paul:  I  will  apply 


234  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  your  own  experience  if  you  ever  found  your 
arguments  had  that  effect.  The  more  our  judg- 
ments err,  the  less  we  are  willing  to  own  it:  for 
my  own  part,  I  have  always  observed  the  persons 
who  maintain  the  worst  side  in  any  contest  are 
the  warmest.  Why,  says  she,  I  must  confess 
there  is  truth  in  what  you  say,  and  I  will  en- 
deavor to  practice  it.  The  husband  then  coming 
in,  Paul  departed.  And  Lennard,  approaching 
his  wife  with  an  air  of  good  humor,  told  her  he 
was  sorry  for  their  foolish  dispute  the  last  night ; 
but  he  was  now  convinced  of  his  error.  She 
answered,  smiling,  she  believed  she  owed  his  con- 
descension to  his  complacence;  that  she  was 
ashamed  to  think  a  word  had  passed  on  so  silly 
an  occasion,  especially  as  she  was  satisfied  she 
had  been  mistaken.  A  little  contention  followed, 
but  with  the  utmost  good-will  to  each  other,  and 
was  concluded  by  her  asserting  that  Paul  had 
thoroughly  convinced  her  she  had  been  in  the 
wrong.  Upon  which  they  both  united  in  the 
praises  of  their  common  friend. 

"Paul  now  passed  his  time  with  great  satis- 
faction, these  disputes  being  much  less  frequent, 
as  well  as  shorter  than  usual;  but  the  devil,  or 
some  unlucky  accident  in  which  perhaps  the  devil 
had  no  hand,  shortly  put  an  end  to  his  happi- 
ness. He  was  now  eternally  the  private  referee 
of  every  difference;  in  which,  after  having  per- 
fectly, as  he  thought,  established  the  doctrine  of 
submission,  he  never  scrupled  to  assure  both 
privately  that  they  were  in  the  right  in  every 
argument,  as  before  he  had  followed  the  eon- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  235 

trary  method.  One  day  a  violent  litigation  hap- 
pened in  his  absence,  and  both  parties  agreed  to 
refer  it  to  his  decision.  The  husband  professing 
himself  sure  the  decision  would  be  in  his  favor; 
the  wife  answered,  he  might  be  mistaken;  for 
she  believed  his  friend  was  convinced  how  sel- 
dom she  was  to  blame;  and  that  if  he  knew  all 
— The  husband  replied,  My  dear,  I  have  no  de- 
sire of  any  retrospect ;  but  I  believe,  if  you  knew 
all  too,  you  would  not  imagine  my  friend  so 
entirely  on  your  side.  Nay,  says  she,  since  you 
provoke  me,  I  will  mention  one  instance.  You 
may  remember  our  dispute  about  sending  Jackey 
to  school  in  cold  weather,  which  point  I  gave  up 
to  you  from  mere  compassion,  knowing  myself  to 
be  in  the  right;  and  Paul  himself  told  me  after- 
wards he  thought  me  so.  My  dear,  replied  the 
husband,  I  will  not  scruple  your  veracity;  but 
I  assure  you  solemnly,  on  my  applying  to  him, 
he  gave  it  absolutely  on  my  side,  and  said  he 
would  have  acted  in  the  same  manner.  They 
then  proceeded  to  produce  numberless  other  in- 
stances, in  all  which  Paul  had,  on  vows  of  secrecy, 
given  his  opinion  on  both  sides.  In  the  con- 
clusion, both  believing  each  other,  they  fell 
severely  on  the  treachery  of  Paul,  and  agreed  that 
he  had  been  the  occasion  of  almost  every  dis- 
pute which  had  fallen  out  between  them.  They 
then  became  extremely  loving,  and  so  full  of 
condescension  on  both  sides,  that  they  vied  with 
each  other  in  censuring  their  own  conduct,  and 
jointly  vented  their  indignation  on  Paul,  whom 
the  wife,  fearing  a  bloody  consequence,  earnestly 


236  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

entreated  her  husband  to  suffer  quietly  to  depart 
the  next  day,  which  was  the  time  fixed  for  his 
return  to  quarters,  and  then  drop  his  acquaint- 
ance. 

"However  ungenerous  this  behavior  in  Len- 
nard  may  be  esteemed,  his  wife  obtained  a 
promise  from  him  (though  with  diflSculty)  to 
follow  her  advice;  but  they  both  expressed  such 
unusual  coldness  that  day  to  Paul,  that  he,  who 
was  quick  of  apprehension,  taking  Lennard  aside, 
pressed  him  so  home,  that  he  at  last  discovered 
the  secret.  Paul  acknowledged  the  truth,  but 
told  him  the  design  with  which  he  had  done  it. 
— To  which  the  other  answered,  he  would  have 
acted  more  friendly  to  have  let  him  into  the 
whole  design;  for  that  he  might  have  assured 
himself  of  his  secrecy.  Paul  replied,  with  some 
indignation,  he  had  given  him  a  sufficient  proof 
how  capable  he  was  of  concealing  a  secret  from 
his  wife.  Lennard  returned  with  some  warmth 
— he  had  more  reason  to  upbraid  him,  for  that 
he  had  caused  most  of  the  c^uarrels  between  them 
by  his  strange  conduct,  and  might  (if  they  had 
not  discovered  the  affair  to  each  other)  have 
been  the  occasion  of  their  separation.  Paul 
then  said" — But  something  now  happened  which 
put  a  stop  to  Dick's  reading,  and  of  which  we 
shall  treat  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XI 

In  which  the  history  is  continued. 

JOSEPH  ANDREWS  bad  borne  witb  great 
uneasiness  tbe  impertinence  of  beau  Didap- 
per  to  Fanny,  wbo  bad  been  talking  pretty 
freely  to  her,  and  offering  ber  settlements;  but 
tbe  respect  to  tbe  company  bad  restrained  Mm 
from  interfering  whilst  the  beau  confined  himself 
to  the  use  of  his  tongue  only;  but  tbe  said  beau, 
watching  an  opportunity  whilst  the  ladies'  eyes 
were  disposed  another  way,  offered  a  rudeness 
to  her  witb  bis  hands;  which  Joseph  no  sooner 
perceived  than  he  presented  him  with  so  sound 
a  box  on  the  ear,  that  it  conveyed  him  several 
paces  from  where  he  stood.  The  ladies  immedi- 
ately screamed  out,  rose  from  their  chairs;  and 
tbe  beau,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  himself,  drew 
his  hanger :  which  Adams  observing,  snatched  up 
tbe  lid  of  a  pot  in  his  left  hand,  and,  covering 
himself  witb  it  as  with  a  shield,  without  any 
weapon  of  offense  in  his  other  hand,  stepped  in 
before  Joseph,  and  exposed  himself  to  the  en- 
raged beau,  who  threatened  such  perdition  and 
destruction,  that  it  frighted  the  women,  who 
were  all  got  in  a  huddle  together,  out  of  their 
wits,  even  to  bear  his  denunciations  of  vengeance. 
Joseph  was  of  a  different  complexion,  and  begged 
Adams  to  let  his  rival  come  on;  for  he  had  a 

237 


238  THE  HISTORY  OF 

good  cudgel  in  his  hand,  and  did  not  fear  him. 
Fanny  now  fainted  into  Mrs.  Adams's  arms,  and 
the  whole  room  was  in  confusion,  when  Mr. 
Booby,  passing  by  Adams,  who  lay  snug  under 
the  pot-lid,  came  up  to  Didapper,  and  insisted 
on  his  sheathing  the  hanger,  promising  he  should 
have  satisfaction;  which  Joseph  declared  he 
would  give  him,  and  fight  him  at  any  weapon 
whatever.  The  beau  now  sheathed  his  hanger, 
and  taking  out  a  pocket-glass,  and  vowing  ven- 
geance all  the  time,  re-adjusted  his  hair;  the 
parson  deposited  his  shield;  and  Joseph,  run- 
ning to  Fanny,  soon  brought  her  back  to  life. 
Lady  Booby  chid  Joseph  for  his  insult  on  Didap- 
per; but  he  answered,  he  would  have  attacked 
an  army  in  the  same  cause.  "What  cause?" 
said  the  lady.  "Madam,"  answered  Joseph,  "he 
was  rude  to  that  young  woman." — "What,"  says 
the  lady,  "I  suppose  he  would  have  kissed  the 
wench;  and  is  a  gentleman  to  be  struck  for  such 
an  offer?  I  must  tell  you,  Joseph,  these  airs 
do  not  become  you." — "Madam,"  said  Mr. 
Booby,  "I  saw  the  whole  affair,  and  I  do  not 
commend  my  brother;  for  I  cannot  perceive  why 
he  should  take  upon  him  to  be  this  girl's  cham- 
pion."— "I  can  commend  him,"  says  Adams: 
"he  is  a  brave  lad;  and  it  becomes  any  man  to 
be  the  champion  of  the  innocent;  and  he  must 
be  the  basest  coward  who  would  not  vindicate  a 
woman  with  whom  he  is  on  the  brink  of  mar- 
riage."— "Sir,"  says  Mr.  Booby,  "my  brother 
is  not  a  proper  match  for  such  a  young  woman 
as  this." — "No,"  says  Lady  Booby;  "nor  do  you, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  239 

Mr.  Adams,  act  in  your  proper  character  by  en- 
couraging any  sucli  doings ;  and  I  am  very  much 
surprised  you  should  concern  yourself  in  it.  I 
think  your  wife  and  family  your  properer  care." 
— "Indeed,  madam,  your  ladyship  says  very 
true,"  answered  Mrs.  Adams:  "he  talks  a  pack  of 
nonsense,  that  the  whole  parish  are  his  children. 
I  am  sure  I  don't  understand  what  he  means 
by  it ;  it  would  make  some  women  suspect  he  had 
gone  astray,  but  I  acquit  him  of  that ;  I  can  read 
Scripture  as  well  as  he,  and  I  never  found  that 
the  parson  was  obliged  to  provide  for  other  folks' 
children;  and  besides,  he  is  but  a  poor  curate, 
and  hath  little  enough,  as  your  ladyship  knows, 
for  me  and  mine." — "You  say  very  well,  Mrs. 
Adams,"  quoth  the  Lady  Booby,  who  had  not 
spoke  a  word  to  her  before;  "you  seem  to  be 
a  very  sensible  woman;  and  I  assure  you,  your 
husband  is  acting  a  very  foolish  part,  and  op- 
posing his  own  interest,  seeing  my  nephew  is 
violently  set  against  this  match:  and  indeed  I 
can't  blame  him;  it  is  by  no  means  one  suitable 
to  our  family."  In  this  manner  the  lady  pro- 
ceeded with  Mrs.  Adams,  whilst  the  beau  hopped 
about  the  room,  shaking  his  head,  partly  from 
pain  and  partly  from  anger;  and  Pamela  was 
chiding  Fanny  for  her  assurance  in  aiming  at 
such  a  match  as  her  brother.  Poor  Fanny  an- 
swered only  with  her  tears,  which  had  long  since 
begun  to  wet  her  handkerchief;  which  Joseph  per- 
ceiving, took  her  by  the  arm,  and  wrapping  it  in 
his  carried  her  off,  swearing  he  would  own  no 
relation  to  any  one  who  was  an  enemy  to  her  he 


240  THE  HISTORY  OF 

loved  more  than  all  the  world.  He  went  out 
with  Fanny  under  his  left  arm,  brandishing  a 
cudgel  in  his  right,  and  neither  Mr.  Booby  nor  the 
beau  thought  proper  to  oppose  him.  Lady  Booby 
and  her  company  made  a  very  short  stay  be- 
hind him;  for  the  lady's  bell  now  summoned  them 
to  dress;  for  which  they  had  just  time  before 
dinner. 

Adams  seemed  now  very  much  dejected,  which 
his  wife  perceiving,  began  to  apply  some  matri- 
monial balsam.  She  told  him  he  had  reason  to 
be  concerned,  for  that  he  had  probably  ruined 
his  family  with  his  tricks  almost;  but  perhaps 
he  was  grieved  for  the  loss  of  his  two  children, 
Joseph  and  Fanny.  His  eldest  daughter  went 
on:  "Indeed,  father,  it  is  very  hard  to  bring 
strangers  here  to  eat  your  children's  bread  out 
of  their  mouths.  You  have  kept  them  ever  since 
they  came  home;  and,  for  anything  I  see  to  the 
contrary,  maj^  keep  them  a  month  longer;  are 
you  obliged  to  give  her  meat,  tho'f  she  was  never 
so  handsome?  But  I  don't  see  she  is  so  much 
handsomer  than  other  people.  If  people  were 
to  be  kept  for  their  beauty,  she  would  scarce 
fare  better  than  her  neighbors,  I  believe.  As 
for  Mr.  Joseph,  I  have  nothing  to  say;  he  is  a 
young  man  of  honest  principles,  and  will  pay 
some  time  or  other  for  what  he  hath;  but  for 
the  girl — why  dotli  she  not  "return  to  her  place 
she  ran  away  from?  I  would  not  give  such  a 
vagabond  slut  a  halfpenny  though  I  had  a  million 
of  money;  no,  though  she  was  starving."  "In- 
deed but  I  would,"  cries  little  Dick;  "and,  father, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  241 

rather  than  poor  Fanny  shall  be  starved,  I  will 
give  her  all  this  bread  and  cheese" — (offering 
what  he  held  in  his  hand).  Adams  smiled  on  the 
boy,  and  told  him  he  rejoiced  to  see  he  was  a 
Christian;  and  that  if  he  had  a  halfpenny  in 
his  pocket,  he  would  have  given  it  him;  telling 
him  it  was  his  duty  to  look  upon  all  his  neigh- 
bors as  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  love  them 
accordingly.  "Yes,  papa,"  says  he,  "I  love  her 
better  than  my  sisters,  for  she  is  handsomer  than 
any  of  them."  "Is  she  so,  saucebox?"  says  the 
sister,  giving  him  a  box  on  the  ear;  which  the 
father  would  probably  have  resented,  had  not 
Joseph,  Fanny,  and  the  peddler  at  that  instant 
returned  together.  Adams  bid  his  wife  prepare 
some  food  for  their  dinner;  she  said,  "Truly  she 
could  not,  she  had  something  else  to  do."  Adams 
rebuked  her  for  disputing  his  commands,  and 
quoted  many  texts  of  Scripture  to  prove  "That 
the  husband  is  the  head  of  the  wife,  and  she  is 
to  submit  and  obey."  The  wife  answered,  "It 
was  blasphemy  to  talk  Scripture  out  of  church; 
that  such  things  were  very  proper  to  be  said  in 
the  pulpit,  but  that  it  was  profane  to  talk  them 
in  common  discourse."  Joseph  told  Mr.  Adams 
"He  was  not  come  with  any  design  to  give  him 
or  Mrs.  Adams  any  trouble;  but  to  desire  the 
favor  of  all  their  company  to  the  George  (an  ale- 
house in  the  parish),  where  he  had  bespoke  a 
piece  of  bacon  and  greens  for  their  dinner." 
Mrs.  Adams,  who  was  a  very  good  sort  of  woman, 
only  rather  too  strict  in  economies,  readily  ac- 
cepted this  invitation,  as  did  the  parson  himself 

11—16 


242  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

by  her  example;  and  away  they  all  walked  to- 
gether, not  omitting  little  Dick,  to  whom  Joseph 
gave  a  shilling  when  he  heard  of  his  intended 
liberality^  to  Fanny. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Where  the  good-natured  reader  will  see  something  which  will 
give  him  no  great  pleasure. 

THE  peddler  had  been  very  inquisitive  from 
the  time  he  had  first  heard  that  the  great 
house  in  this  parisli  belonged  to  the  Lady 
Booby,  and  had  learned  that  she  was  the  widow 
of  Sir  Thomas,  and  that  Sir  Thomas  had  bought 
Fanny,  at  about  the  age  of  three  or  four  years, 
of  a  traveling  woman ;  and,  now  their  homely  but 
hearty  meal  was  ended,  he  told  Fanny  he  believed 
he  could  acquaint  her  with  her  parents.  The 
whole  company,  especially  she  herself,  started  at 
this  offer  of  the  peddler's.  He  then  proceeded 
thus,  while  they  all  lent  their  strictest  atten- 
tion:— *' Though  I  am  now  contented  with  this 
humble  way  of  getting  my  livelihood,  I  was  for- 
merly a  gentleman;  for  so  all  those  of  my  pro- 
fession are  called.  In  a  word,  I  was  a  drummer 
in  an  Irish  regiment  of  foot.  Whilst  I  was  in 
this  honorable  station  I  attended  an  officer  of 
our  regiment  into  England  a-recruiting.  In  our 
march  from  Bristol  to  Froome  (for  since  the 
decay  of  the  woolen  trade  the  clothing  towns  have 
furnished  the  army  with  a  great  number  of  re- 
cruits) we  overtook  on  the  road  a  woman,  who 
seemed  to  be  about  thirty  years  old  or  there- 
abouts, not  very  handsome,  but  well  enough  for 

243 


244  THE  HISTORY  OF 

a  soldier.  As  we  came  up  to  her,  she  mended 
her  pace,  and  falling  into  discourse  with  our 
ladies  (for  every  man  of  the  party,  namely,  a 
sergeant,  two  i^rivate  men,  and  a  drum,  were 
provided  with  their  woman  except  myself),  she 
continued  to  travel  on  with  us.  I,  perceiving  she 
must  fall  to  my  lot,  advanced  presently  to  her, 
made  love  to  her  in  our  military  way,  and  c[uickly 
succeeded  to  my  wishes.  We  struck  a  bargain 
within  a  mile,  and  lived  together  as  man  and  wife 
to  her  dying  day."  ''I  suppose,"  says  Adams, 
interrupting  him,  ^'you  were  married  with  a 
license;  for  I  don't  see  how  you  could  contrive 
to  have  the  banns  published  while  you  were  march- 
ing from  place  to  place."  ''No,  sir,"  said  the 
peddler,  "we  took  a  license  to  go  to  bed  together 
without  any  banns."  "Ay!  ay!"  said  the  par- 
son; '^ex  necessitate,  a  license  may  be  allowable 
enough;  but  surely,  surely,  the  other  is  the  more 
regular  and  eligible  way. ' '  The  peddler  proceeded 
thus:  "She  returned  with  me  to  our  regiment, 
and  removed  with  us  from  quarters  to  quarters, 
till  at  last,  whilst  we  lay  at  Galloway,  she  fell 
ill  of  a  fever  and  died.  When  she  was  on  her 
death-bed  she  called  me  to  her,  and,  crying  bit- 
terly, declared  she  could  not  depart  this  world 
without  discovering  a  secret  to  me,  which,  she 
said,  was  the  only  sin  which  sat  heavj^  on  her 
heart.  She  said  she  had  formerly  traveled  in  a 
company  of  gypsies,  who  had  made  a  practice 
of  stealing  away  children ;  that  for  her  own  part, 
she  had  been  only  once  guilty  of  the  crime ;  which, 
she  sai-d,  she  lamented  more  than  all  the  rest  of 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  245 

her  sins,  since  probably  it  miglit  have  occasioned 
the  death  of  the  parents;  for,  added  she,  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  describe  the  beauty  of  the 
young  creature,  which  was  about  a  year  and  a 
half  old  when  I  kidnapiDed  it.  We  kept  her  (for 
she  was  a  girl)  above  two  jeavs  in  our  company, 
when  I  sold  her  myself,  for  three  guineas,  to  Sir 
Thomas  Booby,  in  Somersetshire.  Now,  you 
know  whether  there  are  any  more  of  that  name  in 
this  county."  "Yes,"  says  Adams,  ''there  are 
several  Boobys  who  are  squires,  but  I  believe 
no  baronet  now  alive;  besides,  it  answers  so  ex- 
actly in  every  point,  there  is  no  room  for  doubt; 
but  you  have  forgot  to  tell  us  the  parents 
from  whom  the  child  was  stolen."  "Their 
name,"  answered  the  peddler,  "was  Andrews. 
They  lived  about  thirty  miles  from  the  squire; 
and  she  told  me  that  I  might  be  sure  to  find 
them  out  by  one  circumstance;  for  that  they  had 
a  daughter  of  a  very  strange  name,  Pamela,  or 
Pamela;  some  pronounced  it  one  way,  and  some 
the  other."  Fanny,  who  had  changed  color  at 
the  first  mention  of  the  name,  now  fainted  away; 
Joseph  turned  pale,  and  poor  Dicky  began  to 
roar ;  the  parson  fell  on  his  knees,  and  ejaculated 
many  thanksgivings  that  this  discovery  had  been 
made  before  the  dreadful  sin  of  incest  was  com- 
mitted; and  the  peddler  was  struck  with  amaze- 
ment, not  being  able  to  account  for  all  this 
confusion;  the  cause  of  which  was  presently 
opened  by  the  parson's  daughter,  who  was  the 
only  unconcerned  person  (for  the  mother  was 
chafing  Fanny's  temples,  and  taking  the  utmost 


246  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

care  of  her) :  and,  indeed,  Fanny  was  the  only 
creature  whom  the  daughter  would  not  have 
pitied  in  her  situation;  wherein,  though  we  com- 
passionate her  ourselves,  we  shall  leave  her  for  a 
little  while,  and  pay  a  short  visit  to  Lady  Booby. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  history,  returning  to  the  Lady  Booby,  gives  some  account 
of  the  terrible  conflict  in  her  breast  between  love  and 
pride;  with  what  happened  on  the  present  discovery. 

THE  lady  sat  down  with  her  company  to 
dinner,  but  eat  nothing.  As  soon  as  her 
cloth  was  removed  she  whispered  Pamela 
that  she  was  taken  a  little  ill,  and  desired  her 
to  entertain  her  husband  and  beau  Didapper. 
She  then  went  up  into  her  chamber,  sent  for 
Slipslop,  threw  herself  on  the  bed  in  the  agonies 
of  love,  rage,  and  despair ;  nor  could  she  conceal 
these  boiling  passions  longer  without  bursting. 
Slipslop  now  approached  her  bed,  and  asked  how 
her  ladyship  did;  but,  instead  of  revealing  her 
disorder,  as  she  intended,  she  entered  into  a  long 
encomium  on  the  beauty  and  virtues  of  Joseph 
Andrews;  ending,  at  last,  with  expressing  her 
concern  that  so  much  tenderness  should  be  thrown 
away  on  so  despicable  an  object  as  Fanny.  Slip- 
slop, well  knowing  how  to  humor  her  mistress's 
frenzy,  proceeded  to  repeat,  with  exaggeration, 
if  possible,  all  her  mistress  had  said,  and  con- 
cluded with  a  wish  that  Joseph  had  been  a  gen- 
tleman, and  that  she  could  see  her  lady  in  the 
arms  of  such  a  husband.  The  lady  then  started 
from  the  bed,  and,  taking  a  turn  or  two  across  the 
room,  cried  out,  with  a  deep  sigh, ' '  Sure  he  would 

247 


248  THE  HISTORY  OP 

make  any  woman  happy!" — ''Your  ladyship," 
says  she,  "would  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the 
world  with  him.  A  fig  for  custom  and  nonsense ! 
What  'vails  what  people  say!  Shall  I  be  afraid 
of  eating  sweetmeats  because  people  may  say  I 
have  a  sweet  tooth?  If  I  had  a  mind  to  marry 
a  man,  all  the  world  should  not  hinder  me.  Your 
ladyship  hath  no  parents  to  tutelar  your  infec- 
tions; besides,  he  is  of  your  ladyship's  family 
now,  and  as  good  a  gentleman  as  any  in  the 
country ;  and  why  should  not  a  woman  follow  her 
mind  as  well  as  man  ?  Why  should  not  your  lady- 
ship marry  the  brother  as  well  as  your  nephew 
the  sister.  I  am  sure,  if  it  was  a  fragrant  crime, 
I  would  not  persuade  your  ladyship  to  it." — 
"But,  dear  Slipslop,"  answered  the  lady,  "if  I 
could  prevail  on  myself  to  commit  such  a  weak- 
ness, there  is  that  cursed  Fanny  in  the  way,  whom 
the  idiot — 0  how  I  hate  and  despise  him!" — 
"She!  a  little  ugly  minx,"  cries  Slipslop;  "leave 
her  to  me.  I  suppose  your  ladyship  hath  heard 
of  Joseph's  fitting  with  one  of  Mr.  Didapper's 
servants  about  her;  and  his  master  hath  ordered 
them  to  carry  her  away  by  force  this  evening. 
I'll  take  care  they  shall  not  want  assistance.  I 
was  talking  with  this  gentleman,  who  was  below, 
just  when  your  ladyship  sent  for  me." — "Go 
back,"  says  the  Lady  Booby,  "this  instant,  for 
I  expect  Mr.  Didapper  will  soon  be  going.  Do 
all  you  can;  for  I  am  resolved  this  wench  shall 
not  be  in  our  family :  I  will  endeavor  to  return  to 
the  company;  but  let  me  know  as  soon  as  she  is 
carried  off."     Slipslop  went  away;  and  her  mis- 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  249 

tress  began  to  arraign  her  own  conduct  in  the 
following  manner: — 

''What  am  I  doing?  How  do  I  suffer  this  pas- 
sion to  creep  imperceptibly  upon  me?  How  many 
days  are  past  since  I  could  have  submitted  to 
ask  myself  the  question? — Marry  a  footman! 
Distraction!  Can  I  afterwards  bear  the  eyes  of 
my  acquaintance?  But  I  can  retire  from  them; 
retire  with  one  in  whom  I  propose  more  happiness 
than  the  world  without  him  can  give  me !  Retire 
— to  feed  continually  on  beauties  which  my  in- 
flamed imagination  sickens  with  eagerly  gazing 
on;  to  satisfy  every  appetite,  every  desire,  with 
their  utmost  wish.  Ha!  and  do  I  dote  thus  on 
a  footman?  I  despise,  I  detest  my  passion. — 
Yet  why?  Is  he  not  generous,  gentle,  kind? — 
Kind!  to  whom?  to  the  meanest  wretch,  a  creature 
below  my  consideration.  Doth  he  not — yes,  he 
doth  prefer  her.  Curse  his  beauties,  and  the  little 
low  heart  that  possesses  them ;  which  can  basely 
descend  to  this  despicable  wench,  and  be  ungrate- 
fully deaf  to  all  the  honors  I  do  him.  And  can 
I  then  love  this  monster?  No,  I  will  tear  his 
image  from  my  bosom,  tread  on  him,  spurn  him. 
I  will  have  those  pitiful  charms,  which  now  I 
despise,  mangled  in  my  sight;  for  I  will  not  suffer 
the  little  jade  I  hate  to  riot  in  the  beauties  I  con- 
temn. No;  though  I  despise  him  myself,  though 
I  would  spurn  him  from  my  feet,  was  he  to 
lang-uish  at  them,  no  other  should  taste  the  hap- 
piness I  scorn.  Why  do  I  say  happiness?  To 
me  it  would  be  misery.  To  sacrifice  my  repu- 
tation, my  character,  my  rank  in  life,  to  the  in- 


250  THE  HISTORY  OF 

dulgence  of  a  mean  and  a  vile  appetite!     How  I 
detest  the  tlionght !     How  much  more  exquisite  is 
the  pleasure  resulting  from  the  reflection  of  vir- 
tue and  prudence  than  the  faint  relish  of  what 
flows  from  vice  and  folly!     Whither  did  I  suffer 
this  improper,   this  mad  passion  to  hurry  me, 
only  by  neglecting  to  summon  the  aids  of  reason 
to  my  assistance?     Reason,  which  hath  now  set 
before  me  my  desires  in  their  proper  colors,  and 
immediately  helped  me  to  expel   them.     Yes,  I 
thank  Heaven  and  my  pride,  I  have  now  perfectly 
conquered  this  unworthy  passion;   and  if  there 
was  no  obstacle  in  its  way,  my  pride  would  dis- 
dain any  pleasures  which  could  be  the  consequence 
of  so  base,  so  mean,  so  vulgar — "     Slipslop  re- 
turned at  this  instant  in  a  violent  hurry,  and  with 
the  utmost  eagerness  cried  out,  ''0  madam!  I 
have   strange  news.     Tom   the   footman   is   just 
come  from  the  George;  where,  it  seems,  Joseph 
and  the  rest  of  them  are  a  jinketting;  and  he 
says  there  is  a  strange  man  who  hath  discovered 
that  Fanny  and  Joseph  are  brother  and  sister." 
— ''How,  Slipslop?"  cries  the  lady,  in  a  surprise. 
-—"I  had  not  time,  madam,"  cries  Slipslop,  "to 
inquire  about  particles,  but  Tom  says  it  is  most 
certainly  true." 

This  unexpected  account  entirely  obliterated  all 
those  admirable  reflections  which  the  supreme 
power  of  reason  had  so  wisely  made  just  before. 
In  short,  when  despair,  which  had  more  share  in 
producing  the  resolutions  of  hatred  we  have  seen 
taken,  began  to  retreat,  the  lady  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  forgetting  all  the  purport  of  her 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  251 

soliloquy,  dismissed  her  woman  again,  with  or- 
ders to  bid  Tom  attend  her  in  the  parlor,  whither 
she  now  hastened  to  acquaint  Pamela  with  the 
news.  Pamela  said  she  could  not  believe  it;  for 
she  had  never  heard  that  her  mother  had  lost 
any  child,  or  that  she  had  ever  had  any  more  than 
Joseph  and  herself.  The  lady  flew  into  a  violent 
rage  with  her,  and  talked  of  upstarts  and  dis- 
owning relations  who  had  so  lately  been  on  a  level 
with  her.  Pamela  made  no  answer ;  but  her  hus- 
band, taking  up  her  cause,  severely  reprimanded 
his  aunt  for  her  behavior  to  his  wife :  he  told  her, 
if  it  had  been  earlier  in  the  evening  she  should 
not  have  stayed  a  moment  longer  in  her  house; 
that  he  was  convinced,  if  this  young  woman  could 
be  proved  her  sister,  she  would  readily  embrace 
her  as  such,  and  he  himself  would  do  the  same. 
He  then  desired  the  fellow  might  be  sent  for,  and 
the  young  woman  with  him,  which  Lady  Booby 
immediately  ordered;  and,  thinking  proper  to 
make  some  apology  to  Pamela  for  what  she  had 
said,  it  was  readily  accepted,  and  all  things 
reconciled. 

The  peddler  now  attended,  as  did  Fanny  and  Jo- 
seph, who  would  not  quit  her ;  the  parson  likewise 
was  induced,  not  only  by  curiosity,  of  which  he 
had  no  small  portion,  but  his  duty,  as  he  appre- 
hended it,  to  follow  them;  for  he  continued  all 
the  way  to  exhort  them,  who  were  now  breaking 
their  hearts,  to  offer  up  thanksgivings,  and  be 
joyful  for  so  miraculous  an  escape. 

When  they  arrived  at  Booby-Hall  they  were 
presently  called  into  the  parlor,  where  the  peddler 


252  THE  HISTORY  OF 

repeated  the  same  story  he  had  told  before,  and 
insisted  on  the  truth  of  every  circumstance;  so 
that  all  who  heard  him  were  extremely  well  sat- 
isfied of  the  truth,  except  Pamela,  who  imagined, 
as  she  had  never  heard  either  of  her  parents  men- 
tion such  an  accident,  that  it  must  be  certainly 
false;  and  except  the  Lady  Booby,  who  suspected 
the  falsehood  of  the  story  from  her  ardent  desire 
that  it  should  be  true;  and  Joseph,  who  feared 
its  truth,  from  his  earnest  wishes  that  it  might 
prove  false. 

Mr.  Booby  now  desired  them  all  to  suspend 
their  curiosity  and  absolute  belief  or  disbelief  till 
the  next  morning,  when  he  expected  old  Mr.  An- 
drews and  his  wife  to  fetch  himself  and  Pamela 
home  in  his  coach,  and  then  they  might  be  certain 
of  certainly  knowing  the  truth  or  falsehood  of 
this  relation;  in  which,  he  said,  as  there  were 
many  strong  circumstances  to  induce  their  credit, 
so  he  could  not  perceive  any  interest  the  peddler 
could  have  in  inventing  it,  or  in  endeavoring  to 
impose  such  a  falsehood  on  them. 

The  Lady  Booby,  who  was  very  little  used  to 
such  company,  entertained  them  all — viz.  her 
nephew,  his  wife,  her  brother  and  sister,  the  beau, 
and  the  parson,  with  great  good  humor  at  her 
own  table.  As  to  the  peddler,  she  ordered  him  to 
be  made  as  welcome  as  possible  by  her  servants. 
All  the  company  in  the  parlor,  except  the  disap- 
pointed lovers,  who  sat  sullen  and  silent,  were 
full  of  mirth;  for  Mr.  Booby  had  prevailed  on 
Joseph  to  ask  Mr.  Didapper's  pardon,  with  which 
he  was  perfectly  satisfied.    Many  jokes  passed 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  253 

between  the  beau  and  the  parson,  chiefly  on  each 
other's  dress;  these  afforded  much  diversion  to 
the  company.  Pamela  chid  her  brother  Joseph 
for  the  concern  which  he  expressed  at  discovering 
a  new  sister.  She  said,  if  he  loved  Fanny  as  he 
ought,  with  a  pure  affection,  he  had  no  reason  to 
lament  being  related  to  her. — Upon  which  Adams 
began  to  discourse  on  Platonic  love;  whence  he 
made  a  quick  transition  to  the  joys  in  the  next 
world,  and  concluded  with  strongly  asserting  that 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  pleasure  in  this.  At 
which  Pamela  and  her  husband  smiled  on  one  an- 
other. 

This  happy  pair  proposing  to  retire  (for  no 
other  person. gave  the  least  symptom  of  desiring 
rest),  they  all  repaired  to  several  beds  provided 
for  them  in  the  same  house;  nor  was  Adams  him- 
self suffered  to  go  home,  it  being  a  stormy  night. 
Fanny  indeed  often  begged  she  might  go  home 
with  the  parson ;  but  her  stay  was  so  strongly  in- 
sisted on,  that  she  at  last,  by  Joseph's  advice, 
consented. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Containing  several  curious  night-adventures,  in  which  Mr. 
Adams  fell  into  many  hair-breadth  'scapes,  partly  owing 
to  his  goodness,  and  partly  to  his  inadvertency. 

ABOUT  an  hour  after  they  had  all  separated 
(it  being  now  past  three  in  the  morning), 
beau  Didapper,  whose  passion  for  Fanny 
permitted  him  not  to  close  his  eyes,  but  had  em- 
ployed his  imagination  in  contrivances  how  to 
satisfy  his  desires,  at  last  hit  on  a  method  by 
which  he  hoped  to  effect  it.  He  had  ordered  his 
servant  to  bring  him  word  where  Fanny  lay,  and 
had  received  his  information;  he  therefore  arose, 
put  on  his  breeches  and  nightgown,  and  stole 
softly  along  the  gallery  which  led  to  her  apart- 
ment ;  and,  being  come  to  the  door,  as  he  imagined 
it,  he  opened  it  with  the  least  noise  possible  and 
entered  the  chamber.  A  savor  now  invaded  his 
nostrils  which  he  did  not  expect  in  the  room  of  so 
sweet  a  young  creature,  and  which  might  have 
probably  had  no  good  effect  on  a  cooler  lover. 
However,  he  groped  out  the  bed  with  difficulty, 
for  there  was  not  a  glimpse  of  light,  and,  open- 
ing the  curtains,  he  whispered  in  Joseph's  voice 
(for  he  was  an  excellent  mimic),  *' Fanny,  my 
angel !  I  am  come  to  inform  thee  that  I  have  dis- 
covered the  falsehood  of  the  story  we  last  night 
heard.    I  am  no  longer  thy  brother,  but  the  lover ; 

254 


JOSEPH  ANDEEWS  255 

nor  will  I  be  delayed  the  enjoyment  of  thee  one 
moment  longer.  You  have  sufficient  assurances 
of  my  constancy  not  to  doubt  my  marrying  you, 
and  it  would  be  want  of  love  to  deny  me  the  pos- 
session of  thy  charms." — So  saying,  he  disencum- 
bered himself  from  the  little  clothes  he  had  on, 
and,  leaping  into  bed,  embraced  his  angel,  as  he 
conceived  her,  with  great  rapture.  If  he  was  sur- 
prised at  receiving  no  answer,  he  was  no  less 
pleased  to  find  his  hug  returned  with  equal  ar- 
dor. He  remained  not  long  in  this  sweet  confu- 
sion; for  both  he  and  his  paramour  presently  dis- 
covered their  error.  Indeed  it  was  no  other  than 
the  accomplished  Slipslop  whom  he  had  engaged ; 
but,  though  she  immediately  knew  the  person 
whom  she  had  mistaken  for  Joseph,  he  was  at  a 
loss  to  guess  at  the  representative  of  Fanny.  He 
had  so  little  seen  or  taken  notice  of  this  gentle- 
woman, that  light  itself  would  have  afforded  him 
no  assistance  in  his  conjecture.  Beau  Didapper 
no  sooner  had  perceived  his  mistake  than  he  at- 
tempted to  escape  from  the  bed  with  much  greater 
haste  than  he  had  made  to  it;  but  the  watchful 
Slipslop  prevented  him.  For  that  prudent 
woman,  being  disappointed  of  those  delicious  of- 
ferings which  her  fancy  had  promised  her  pleas- 
ure, resolved  to  make  an  immediate  sacrifice  to 
her  virtue.  Indeed  she  wanted  an  opportunity 
to  heal  some  wounds,  which  her  late  conduct  had, 
she  feared,  given  her  reputation ;  and,  as  she  had 
a  wonderful  presence  of  mind,  she  conceived  the 
person  of  the  unfortunate  beau  to  be  luckily 
thrown  in  her  way  to  restore  her  lady's  opinioii 


256  THE  HISTORY  OF 

of  her  impregnable  chastity.  At  that  instant, 
therefore,  when  he  offered  to  leap  from  the  bed, 
she  caught  fast  hold  of  his  shirt,  at  the  same  time 
roaring  out,  "0  thou  villain!  who  hast  attacked 
my  chastity,  and,  I  believe,  ruined  me  in  my 
sleep;  I  will  swear  a  rape  against  thee,  I  will 
prosecute  thee  with  the  utmost  vengeance."  The 
beau  attempted  to  get  loose,  but  she  held  him 
fast,  and  when  he  struggled  she  cried  out  ''Mur- 
der! murder!  rape!  robbery!  ruin!"  At  which 
words,  parson  Adams,  who  lay  in  the  next  cham- 
ber, wakeful,  and  meditating  on  the  peddler's  dis- 
covery, jumped  out  of  bed,  and,  without  staying 
to  put  a  rag  of  clothes  on,  hastened  into  the  apart- 
ment whence  the  cries  proceeded.  He  made  di- 
rectly to  the  bed  in  the  dark,  where,  laying  hold 
of  the  beau's  skin  (for  Slipslop  had  torn  his 
shirt  almost  off),  and  finding  his  skin  extremely 
soft,  and  hearing  him  in  a  low  voice  begging  Slip- 
slop to  let  him  go,  he  no  longer  doubted  but  this 
was  the  young  woman  in  danger  of  ravishing,  and 
immediately  falling  on  the  bed,  and  laying  hold  on 
Slipslop's  chin,  where  he  found  a  rough  beard, 
his  belief  was  confirmed ;  he  therefore  rescued  the 
beau,  who  presently  made  his  escape,  and  then, 
turning  towards  Slipslop,  received  such  a  cuff  on 
his  chops,  that,  his  wrath  kindling  instantly,  he 
offered  to  return  the  favor  so  stoutly,  that  had 
poor  Slipslop  received  the  fist,  which  in  the  dark 
passed  by  her  and  fell  on  the  pillow,  she  would 
most  probably  have  given  up  the  ghost.  Adams, 
missing  his  blow,  fell  directly  on  Slipslop,  who 
cuffed  and  scratched  as  well  as  she  could ;  nor  was 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  257 

he  behindhand  with  her  in  his  endeavors,  but 
happily  the  darkness  of  the  night  befriended  her. 
She  then  cried  she  was  a  woman ;  but  Adams  an- 
swered, she  was  rather  the  devil,  and  if  she  was 
he  would  grapple  with  him;  and,  being  again 
irritated  by  another  stroke  on  his  chops,  he  gave 
her  such  a  remembrance  in  the  guts,  that  she  be- 
gan to  roar  loud  enough  to  be  heard  all  over  the 
house.  Adams  then,  seizing  her  by  the  hair  (for 
her  double-clout  had  fallen  off  in  the  scuffle), 
pinned  her  head  down  to  the  bolster,  and  then 
both  called  for  lights  together.  The  Lady  Booby, 
who  was  as  wakeful  as  any  of  her  guests,  had 
been  alarmed  from  the  beginning;  and,  being  a 
woman  of  a  bold  spirit,  she  slipped  on  a  night- 
gown, petticoat,  and  slippers,  and  taking  a  can- 
dle, which  always  burned  in  her  chamber,  in  her 
hand,  she  walked  undauntedly  to  Slipslop's  room; 
where  she  entered  just  at  the  instant  as  Adams 
had  discovered,  by  the  two  mountains  which  Slip- 
slop carried  before  her,  that  he  was  concerned 
with  a  female.  He  then  concluded  her  to  be  a 
witch,  and  said  he  fancied  those  breasts  gave 
suck  to  a  legion  of  devils.  Slipslop,  seeing  Lady 
Booby  enter  the  room,  cried  help!  or  I  am  rav- 
ished, with  a  most  audible  voice:  and  Adams,  per- 
ceiving the  light,  turned  hastily,  and  saw  the  lady 
(as  she  did  him)  just  as  she  came  to  the  feet  of 
the  bed ;  nor  did  her  modesty,  when  she  found  the 
naked  condition  of  Adams,  suffer  her  to  approach 
farther.  She  then  began  to  revile  the  parson 
as  the  wickedest  of  all  men,  and  particularly 
railed  at  his  impudence  in  choosing  her  house  for 

11—17 


258  THE  HISTORY  OF 

the  scene  of  his  debaucheries,  and  her  own  woman 
for  the  object  of  his  bestiality.  Poor  Adams  had 
before  discovered  the  countenance  of  his  bedfel- 
low, and,  now  first  recollecting  he  was  naked,  he 
was  no  less  confounded  than  Lady  Booby  her- 
self, and  immediately  whipped  under  the  bed- 
clothes, whence  the  chaste  Slipslop  endeavored  in 
vain  to  shut  him  out.  Then  putting  forth  his 
head,  on  which,  by  way  of  ornament,  he  wore  a 
flannel  night-cap,  he  protested  his  innocence,  and 
asked  ten  thousand  pardons  of  Mrs.  Slipslop  for 
the  blows  he  had  struck  her,  vowing  he  had  mis- 
taken her  for  a  witch.  Lady  Booby,  then  casting 
her  eyes  on  the  ground,  observed  something  spar- 
kle with  great  luster,  which,  when  she  had  taken 
it  up,  api^eared  to  be  a  very  fine  pair  of  diamond 
buttons  for  the  sleeves.  A  little  farther  she  saw 
lie  the  sleeve  itself  of  a  shirt  with  laced  ruffles. 
''Heyday!"  says  she,  ''what  is  the  meaning  of 
this?"  "0,  madam,"  says  Slipslop,  "I  don't 
know  what  hath  happened,  I  have  been  so  terri- 
fied. Here  may  have  been  a  dozen  men  in  the 
room."  "To  whom  belongs  this  laced  shirt  and 
jewels?"  says  the  lady.  "Undoubtedly,"  cries 
the  parson,  "to  the  young  gentleman  whom  I  mis- 
took for  a  woman  on  coming  into  the  room, 
whence  proceeded  all  the  subsequent  mistakes; 
for  if  I  had  suspected  him  for  Si  man,  I  would  have 
seized  him,  had  he  been  another  Hercules,  though, 
indeed,  he  seems  rather  to  resemble  Hylas."  He 
then  gave  an  account  of  the  reason  of  his  rising 
from  bed,  and  the  rest,  till  the  lady  came  into 
the  room;  at  which,  and  the  figures  of  Slipslop 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  259 

and  her  gallant,  whose  heads  only  were  visible  at 
the  opposite  corners  of  the  bed,  she  could  not  re- 
frain from  laughter;  nor  did  Slipslop  persist  in 
accusing  the  parson  of  any  motions  towards  a 
rape.  The  lady  therefore  desired  him  to  return 
to  his  bed  as  soon  as  she  was  departed,  and  then 
ordering  Slipslop  to  rise  and  attend  her  in  her 
own  room,  she  returned  herself  thither.  When 
she  was  gone,  Adams  renewed  his  petitions  for 
pardon  to  Mrs.  Slipslop,  who,  with  a  most  Chris- 
tian temper,  not  only  forgave,  but  began  to  move 
with  much  courtesy  towards  him,  which  he  taking 
as  a  hint  to  begin,  immediately  quitted  the  bed, 
and  made  the  best  of  his  way  towards  his  own; 
but  unluckily,  instead  of  turning  to  the  right,  he 
turned  to  the  left,  and  went  to  the  apartment 
where  Fanny  lay,  who  (as  the  reader  may  remem- 
ber) had  not  slept  a  wink  the  preceding  night,  and 
who  was  so  bagged  out  with  what  had  happened 
to  her  in  the  day,  that,  notwithstanding  all 
thoughts  of  her  Joseph,  she  was  fallen  into  so 
jDrofound  a  sleep,  that  all  the  noise  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room  had  not  been  able  to  disturb  her.  Adams 
groped  out  the  bed,  and,  turning  the  clothes  down 
softly,  a  custom  Mrs.  Adams  had  long  accus- 
tomed him  to,  crept  in,  and  deposited  his  carcass 
on  the  bed-post,  a  place  which  that  good  woman 
had  always  assigned  him. 

As  the  cat  or  lap-dog  of  some  lovely  nymph, 
for  whom  ten  thousand  lovers  languish,  lies  quiet- 
ly by  the  side  of  the  charming  maid,  and,  ignorant 
of  the  scene  of  delight  on  which  they  repose,  medi- 
tates the  future  capture  of  a  mouse,  or  surprisal 


260  THE  HISTORY  OF 

of  a  plate  of  bread  and  butter:  so  Adams  lay 
by  the  side  of  Fanny,  ignorant  of  the  paradise 
to  which  he  was  so  near ;  nor  could  the  emanation 
of  sweets  which  flowed  from  her  breath  overpower 
the  fumes  of  tobacco  which  played  in  the  parson's 
nostrils.  And  now  sleep  had  not  overtaken  the 
good  man,  when  Joseph,  who  had  secretly  ap- 
pointed Fanny  to  come  to  her  at  the  break  of 
day,  rapped  softly  at  the  chamber-door,  which 
when  he  had  repeated  twice,  Adams  cried,  ''Come 
in,  whoever  you  are."  Joseph  thought  he  had 
mistaken  the  door,  though  she  had  given  him  the 
most  exact  directions;  however,  knowing  his 
friend's  voice,  he  opened  it,  and  saw  some  female 
vestments  lying  on  a  chair.  Fanny  waking  at 
the  same  instant,  and  stretching  out  her  hand 
on  Adams's  beard,  she  cried  out, — "0  heavens! 
where  am  11"  "Bless  me!  where  am  If"  said 
the  parson.  Then  Fanny  screamed,  Adams  leaped 
out  of  bed,  and  Joseph  stood,  as  the  tragedians 
call  it,  like  the  statue  of  Surprise.  "How  came 
she  into  my  room?"  cried  Adams.  "How  came 
you  into  hers?"  cried  Joseph,  in  an  astonish- 
ment. "I  know  nothing  of  the  matter,"  an- 
swered Adams,  "but  that  she  is  a  vestal  for  me. 
As  I  am  a  Christian,  I  know  not  whether  she  is 
a  man  or  woman.  He  is  an  infidel  who  doth  not 
believe  in  witchcraft.  They  as  surely  exist  now 
as  in  the  days  of  Saul.  My  clothes  are  bewitched 
away  too,  and  Fanny's  brought  into  their  place." 
For  he  still  insisted  he  was  in  his  own  apartment; 
but  Fanny  denied  it  vehemently,  and  said  his  at- 
tempting to  persuade  Joseph  of  such  a  falsehood 


JOSEPH  ANDKEWS  261 

convinced  her  of  his  wiclvcd  designs.  "How!" 
said  Joseph  in  a  rage,  ''hath  he  offered  any  rude- 
ness to  you  ? ' '  She  answered — She  could  not  ac- 
cuse him  of  any  more  than  villainously  stealing 
to  bed  to  her,  which  she  thought  rudeness  suffi- 
cient, and  what  no  man  would  do  without  a  wicked 
intention. 

Joseph's  great  opinion  of  Adams  was  not  easily 
to  be  staggered,  and  when  he  heard  from  Fanny 
that  no  harm  had  happened  he  grew  a  little  cooler ; 
yet  still  he  was  confounded,  and,  as  he  knew  the 
house,  and  that  the  women's  apartments  were  on 
this  side  Mrs.  Slipslop's  room,  and  the  men's  on 
the  other,  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  in  Fan- 
ny's chamber.  Assuring  Adams  therefore  of 
this  truth,  he  begged  him  to  give  some  account 
how  he  came  there.  Adams  then,  standing  in  his 
shirt,  which  did  not  offend  Fanny,  as  the  cur- 
tains of  the  bed  were  drawn,  related  all  that  had 
happened;  and  when  he  had  ended  Joseph  told 
him, — It  was  plain  he  had  mistaken  by  turning 
to  the  right  instead  of  the  left.  ''Odso!"  cries 
Adams,  ''that's  true:  as  sure  as  sixpence,  you 
have  hit  on  the  very  thing."  He  then  traversed 
the  room,  rubbing  his  hands,  ^nd  begged  Fanny's 
pardon,  assuring  her  he  did  not  know  whether 
she  was  man  or  woman.  That  innocent  creature 
firmly  believing  all  he  said,  told  him  she  was 
no  longer  angry,  and  begged  Joseph  to  conduct 
him  into  his  own  apartment,  where  he  should  stay 
himself  till  she  had  put  her  clothes  on.  Joseph 
and  Adams  accordingly  departed,  and  the  latter 
soon  was  convinced  of  the  mistake  he  had  com- 


262  JOSEPH  ANDREWS 

mitted ;  however,  whilst  he  was  dressing  himself, 
he  often  asserted  he  believed  in  the  power  of 
witchcraft,  notwithstanding,  and  did  not  see  how 
a  Christian  could  deny  it. 


CHAPTEE  XV 

The  arrival  of  Gaffar  and  Gammar  Andrews,  with  another 
person  not  much  expected;  and  a  perfect  solution  of  the 
difficulties  raised  by  the  peddler. 

AS  soon  as  Fanny  was  dressed  Joseph  re- 
turned to  her,  and  they  had  a  long  con- 
versation together,  the  conclusion  of 
which  was,  that  if  they  found  themselves  to  be 
really  brother  and  sister,  they  vowed  a  perpetual 
celibacy,  and  to  live  together  all  their  days,  and 
indulge  a  Platonic  friendship  for  each  other. 

The  company  were  all  very  merry  at  breakfast, 
and  Joseph  and  Fanny  rather  more  cheerful  than 
the  preceding  night.  The  Lady  Booby  produced 
the  diamond  button,  which  the  beau  most  readily 
owned,  and  alleged  that  he  was  very  subject  to 
walk  in  his  sleep.  Indeed,  he  was  far  from  being 
ashamed  of  his  amour,  and  rather  endeavored 
to  insinuate  that  more  than  was  really  true  had 
passed  between  him  and  the  fair  Slipslop. 

Their  tea  was  scarce  over  when  news  came  of 
the  arrival  of  old  Mr.  Andrews  and  his  wife. 
They  were  immediately  introduced,  and  kindly 
received  by  the  Lady  Booby,  whose  heart  went 
now  pit-a-pat,  as  did  those  of  Joseph  and  Fanny. 
They  felt,  perhaps,  little  less  anxiety  in  this  in- 
terval than  (Edipus  himself,  whilst  his  fate  was 
revealing. 

263 


264  THE  HISTORY  OF 

Mr.  Booby  first  opened  the  cause  by  informing 
the  old  gentleman  that  he  had  a  child  in  the  com- 
pany more  than  he  knew  of,  and,  taking  Fanny 
by  the  hand,  told  him,  this  was  that  daughter  of 
his  who  had  been  stolen  away  by  gypsies  in  her 
infancy.     Mr.   Andrews,   after   expressing   some 
astonishment,  assured  his  honor  that  he  had  never 
lost  a  daughter  by  gypsies,  nor  ever  had  any 
other  children  than  Joseph  and  Pamela.     These 
words  were  a  cordial  to  the  two  lovers;  but  had 
a  different  effect  on  Lady  Booby.     She  ordered 
the  peddler  to  be  called,  who  recounted  his  story 
as  he  had  done  before. — At  the  end  of  which,  old 
Mrs.  Andrews,  running  to  Fanny,  embraced  her, 
crying  out,  ''She  is,  she  is  my  child!"     The  com- 
pany were  all  amazed  at  this  disagreement  be- 
tween the  man  and  his  wife;  and  the  blood  had 
now  forsaken  the  cheeks  of  the  lovers,  when  the 
old  woman,  turning  to  her  husband,  who  was  more 
surprised  than  all  the  rest,  and  having  a  little 
recovered  her  own   spirits,  delivered  herself  as 
follows:     **You  may  remember,  my  dear,  when 
you  went  a  sergeant  to  Gibraltar,  you  left  me  big 
with  child ;  you  stayed  abroad,  you  know,  upwards 
of  three  years.     In  your  absence  I  was  brought 
to  bed,  I  verily  believe,  of  this  daughter,  whom 
I  am  sure  I  have  reason  to  remember,  for  I  suc- 
kled her  at  this  very  breast  till  the  day  she  was 
stolen  from  me.     One  afternoon,  when  the  child 
was  about  a  year,  or  a  year  and  a  half  old,  or 
thereabouts,  two  gypsy-women  came  to  the  door 
and  offered  to  tell  my  fortune.     One  of  them  had 
a  child  in  her  lap.    I  showed  them  my  hand,  and 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  266 

desired  to  know  if  you  was  ever  to  come  home 
again,  which  I  remember  as  well  as  if  it  was  but 
yesterday:  they  faithfully  promised  me  you 
should. — I  left  the  girl  in  the  cradle  and  went  to 
draw  them  a  cup  of  liquor,  the  best  I  had:  when 
I  returned  with  the  pot  (I  am  sure  I  was  not 
absent  longer  than  whilst  I  am  telling  it  to  you) 
the  women  were  gone.  I  was  afraid  they  had 
stolen  something,  and  looked  and  looked,  but  to 
no  purpose,  and.  Heaven  knows,  I  had  very  little 
for  them  to  steal.  At  last,  hearing  the  child  cry 
in  the  cradle,  I  went  to  take  it  up — but,  0  the 
living!  how  was  I  surprised  to  find,  instead  of 
my  own  girl  that  I  had  put  into  the  cradle,  who 
was  as  fine  a  fat  thriving  child  as  you  shall  see 
in  a  summer's  day,  a  poor  sickly  boy,  that  did 
not  seem  to  have  an  hour  to  live.  I  ran  out, 
pulling  my  hair  off  and  crying  like  any  mad  after 
the  women,  but  never  could  hear  a  word  of  them 
from  that  day  to  this.  When  I  came  back  the 
poor  infant  (which  is  our  Joseph  there,  as  stout 
as  he  now  stands)  lifted  up  its  eyes  upon  me  so 
piteously,  that,  to  be  sure,  notwithstanding  my 
passion,  I  could  not  find  in  my  heart  to  do  it  any 
mischief.  A  neighbor  of  mine,  happening  to  come 
in  at  the  same  time,  and  hearing  the  case,  advised 
me  to  take  care  of  this  poor  child,  and  God  would 
perhaps  one  day  restore  me  my  own.  Upon 
which  I  took  the  child  up,  and  suckled  it  to  be 
sure,  all  the  world  as  if  it  had  been  born  of  my 
own  natural  body;  and  as  true  as  I  am  alive,  in 
a  little  time  I  loved  the  boy  all  to  nothing  as  if 
it  had  been  my  own  girl. — Well,  as  I  was  saying, 


266  THE  HISTORY  OF 

times  growing  very  hard,  I  having  two  children 
and  nothing  but  my  own  work,  which  was  little 
enough,  God  knows,  to  maintain  them,  was  obliged 
to  ask  relief  of  the  parish;  but,  instead  of  giving 
it  me,  they  removed  me,  by  justices'  warrants, 
fifteen  miles,  to  the  place  where  I  now  live,  where 
I  had  not  been  long  settled  before  you  came  home. 
Joseph  (for  that  was  the  name  I  gave  him  my- 
self— the  Lord  knows  whether  he  was  baptized 
or  no,  or  by  what  name),  Joseph,  I  say,  seemed 
to  me  about  five  years  old  when  you  returned; 
for  I  believe  he  is  two  or  three  years  older  than 
our  daughter  here  (for  I  am  thoroughly  con- 
vinced she  is  the  same) ;  and  when  you  saw  him 
you  said  he  was  a  chopping  boy,  without  ever 
minding  his  age;  and  so  I,  seeing  you  did  not 
suspect  anything  of  the  matter,  thought  I  might 
e'en  as  well  keep  it  to  myself,  for  fear  you  should 
not  love  him  as  well  as  I  did.  And  all  this  is 
veritably  true,  and  I  will  take  my  oath  of  it  be- 
fore any  justice  in  the  kingdom." 

The  peddler,  who  had  been  summoned  by  the  or- 
der of  Lady  Booby,  listened  with  the  utmost  at- 
tention to  Gammar  Andrews's  story;  and.  when 
she  had  finished,  asked  her  if  the  supposititious 
child  had  no  mark  on  its  breast?  To  which  she 
answered,  "Yes,  he  had  as  fine  a  strawberry  as 
ever  grew  in  a  garden."  This  Joseph  acknowl- 
edged, and,  unbuttoning  his  coat,  at  the  interces- 
sion of  the  company,  showed  to  them.  "Well," 
says  Gaffar  Andrews,  who  was  a  comical  sly  old 
fellow,  and  very  likely  desired  to  have  no  more 
children  than  he  could  keej),  "you  have  proved, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  267 

I  think,  very  plainly,  that  this  boy  doth  not  be- 
long to  us ;  but  how  are  you  certain  that  the  girl 
is  ours?"  The  parson  then  brought  the  peddler 
forward,  and  desired  him  to  repeat  the  story 
which  he  had  communicated  to  him  the  preceding 
day  at  the  ale-house;  which  he  complied  with, 
and  related  what  the  reader,  as  well  as  Mr. 
Adams,  hath  seen  before.  He  then  confirmed, 
from  his  wife's  report,  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  exchange,  and  of  the  strawberry  on  Joseph's 
breast.  At  the  repetition  of  the  word  strawber- 
ry, Adams,  who  had  seen  it  without  any  emotion, 
started  and  cried,  ''Bless  me!  something  comes 
into  my  head."  But  before  he  had  time  to  bring 
anything  out  a  servant  called  him  forth.  When 
he  was  gone  the  peddler  assured  Joseph  that  his 
parents  were  persons  of  much  greater  circum- 
stances than  those  he  had  hitherto  mistaken  for 
such;  for  that  he  had  been  stolen  from  a  gentle- 
man's house  by  those  whom  they  call  gypsies, 
and  had  been  kej^t  by  them  during  a  whole  year, 
when,  looking  on  him  as  in  a  dying  condition,  they 
had  exchanged  him  for  the  other  healthier  child, 
in  the  manner  before  related.  He  said.  As  to  the 
name  of  his  father,  his  wife  had  either  never 
known  or  forgot  it;  but  that  she  had  acquainted 
him  he  lived  about  forty  miles  from  the  place 
where  the  exchange  had  been  made,  and  which 
way,  promising  to  spare  no  pains  in  endeavoring 
with  him  to  discover  the  place. 

But  Fortune,  which  seldom  doth  good  or  ill,  or 
makes  men  happy  or  miserable,  by  halves,  re- 
solved to  spare  him  this  labor.    The  reader  may 


268  THE  HISTORY  OF 

please  to  recollect  that  Mr.  Wilson  had  intended 
a  journey  to  the  west,  in  which  he  was  to  pass 
through  Mr.  Adams's  parish,  and  had  promised 
to  call  on  him.  He  was  now  arrived  at  the  Lady 
Booby's  gates  for  that  purpose,  being  directed 
thither  from  the  parson's  house,  and  had  sent 
in  the  servant  whom  we  have  above  seen  call  Mr. 
Adams  forth.  This  had  no  sooner  mentioned  the 
discovery  of  a  stolen  child,  and  had  uttered  the 
word  strawberry,  than  Mr.  Wilson,  with  wildness 
in  his  looks,  and  the  utmost  eagerness  in  his 
words,  begged  to  be  showed  into  the  room,  where 
he  entered  without  the  least  regard  to  any  of 
the  company  but  Joseph,  and,  embracing  him  with 
a  complexion  all  pale  and  trembling,  desired  .to 
see  the  mark  on  his  breast;  the  parson  followed 
him  capering,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  crying  out, 
Hie  est  quern  quceris;  inventus  est,  Sc.  Joseph 
complied  with  the  request  of  Mr.  Wilson,  who  no 
sooner  saw  the  mark  than,  abandoning  himself 
to  the  most  extravagant  rapture  of  passion,  he 
embraced  Joseph  with  inexpressible  ecstasy,  and 
cried  out  in  tears  of  joy,  ''I  have  discovered  my 
son,  I  have  him  again  in  my  arms!"  Joseph 
was  not  sufficiently  apprised  yet  to  taste  the  same 
delight  with  his  father  (for  so  in  reality  he  was) ; 
however,  he  returned  some  warmth  to  his  em- 
braces :  but  he  no  sooner  perceived,  from  his  fath- 
er's  account,  the  agreement  of  every  circumstance, 
of  person,  time,  and  place,  than  he  threw  himself 
at  his  feet,  and,  embracing  his  knees,  with  tears 
begged  his  blessing,  which  was  given  with  much 
affection,  and  received  with  such  respect,  mixed 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  260 

with  such  tenderness  on  both  sides,  that  it  af- 
fected all  present;  but  none  so  much  as  Lady 
Booby,  who  left  the  room  in  an  agony,  which 
was  but  too  much  perceived,  and  not  very  char- 
itably accounted  for  by  some  of  the  company. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Being  the  last,  in  ■which  this  true  histoiy  is  brought  to  a  happy 
conclusion. 

FANNY  was  very  little  behind  her  Joseph  in 
the  duty  she  expressed  towards  her  par- 
ents, and  the  joy  she  evidenced  in  discov- 
ering them.  Gammar  Andrews  kissed  her,  and 
said.  She  was  heartily  glad  to  see  her ;  but  for  her 
part,  she  could  never  love  any  one  better  than 
Joseph.  Gaffar  Andrews  testified  no  remarkable 
emotion:  he  blessed  and  kissed  her,  but  com- 
plained bitterly  that  he  wanted  his  pipe,  not  hav- 
ing had  a  whiff  that  morning. 

Mr.  Booby,  who  knew  nothing  of  his  aunt's 
fondness,  imputed  her  abrupt  departure  to  her 
pride,  and  disdain  of  the  family  into  which  he 
was  married;  he  was  therefore  desirous  to  be 
gone  with  the  utmost  celerity;  and  now,  having 
congratulated  Mr.  Wilson  and  Joseph  on  the  dis- 
covery, he  saluted  Fanny,  called  her  sister,  and 
introduced  her  as  such  to  Pamela,  who  behaved 
with  great  decency  on  the  occasion. 

He  now  sent  a  message  to  his  aunt,  who  re- 
turned that  she  wished  him  a  good  journey,  but 
was  too  disordered  to  see  any  company :  he  there- 
fore prepared  to  set  out,  having  invited  Mr.  Wil- 
son to  his  house;  and  Pamela  and  Joseph  both 
so  insisted  on  his  complying,  that  he  at  last  con- 

270 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  271 

sented,  having  first  obtained  a  messenger  from 
Mr.  Booby  to  acquaint  his  wife  with  the  news; 
which,  as  he  knew  it  would  render  her  completely 
happy,  he  could  not  prevail  on  himself  to  delay  a 
moment  in  acquainting  her  with. 

The  company  were  ranged  in  this  manner :  the 
two  old  people,  with  their  two  daughters,  rode 
in  the  coach;  the  squire,  Mr.  Wilson,  Joseph,  par- 
son Adams,  and  the  peddler,  proceeded  on  horse- 
back. 

In  their  way,  Joseph  informed  his  father  of  his 
intended  match  with  Fanny;  to  which,  though  he 
expressed  some  reluctance  at  first,  on  the  eager- 
ness of  his  son's  instances  he  consented;  saying, 
if  she  was  so  good  a  creature  as  she  appeared, 
and  he  described  her,  he  thought  the  disadvan-^ 
tages  of  birth  and  fortune  might  be  compensated. 
He  however  insisted  on  the  match  being  deferred 
till  he  had  seen  his  mother ;  in  which,  Joseph  per- 
ceiving him  positive,  with  great  duty  obeyed  him, 
to  the  great  delight  of  parson  Adams,  who  by 
these  means  saw  an  opportunity  of  fulfilling  the 
Church  forms,  and  marrying  his  parishioners 
without  a  license. 

Mr.  Adams,  greatly  exulting  on  this  occasion 
(for  such  ceremonies  were  matters  of  no  small 
moment  with  him),  accidentally  gave  spurs  to 
his  horse,  which  the  generous  beast  disdaining — 
for  he  was  of  high  mettle,  and  had  been  used 
to  more  expert  riders  than  the  gentleman  who  at 
present  bestrode  him,  for  whose  horsemanship  he 
had  perhaps  some  contempt — immediately  ran 
away  full  speed,  and  played  so  many  antic  tricks 


272  THE  HISTORY  OF 

that  Ee  tumbled  the  parson  from  his  back ;  which 
Joseph  perceiving,  came  to  his  relief. 

This  accident  afforded  infinite  merriment  to  the 
servants,  and  no  less  frightened  poor  Fanny,  who 
beheld  him  as  he  passed  by  the  coach;  but  the 
mirth  of  the  one  and  terror  of  the  other  were  soon 
determined,  when  the  parson  declared  he  had  re- 
ceived no  damage. 

The  horse  having  freed  himself  from  his  un- 
worthy rider,  as  he  probably  thought  him,  pro- 
ceeded to  make  the  best  of  his  way;  but  was 
stopped  by  a  gentleman  and  his  servants,  who 
were  traveling  the  opposite  way,  and  were  now  at 
a  little  distance  from  the  coach.  They  soon  met ; 
and  as  one  of  the  servants  delivered  Adams  his 
horse,  his  master  hailed  him,  and  Adams,  looking 
up,  presently  recollected  he  was  the  justice  of 
peace  before  whom  he  and  Fanny  had  made  their 
appearance.  The  parson  presently  saluted  him 
very  kindly;  and  the  justice  informed  him  that 
he  had  found  the  fellow  who  attempted  to  swear 
against  him  and  the  young  woman  the  very  next 
day,  and  had  committed  him  to  Salisbury  jail, 
where  he  was  charged  with  many  robberies. 

Many  compliments  having  passed  between  the 
parson  and  the  justice,  the  latter  proceeded  on  his 
journey;  and  the  former,  having  with  some  dis- 
dain refused  Joseph's  offer  of  changing  horses, 
and  declared  he  was  as  able  a  horseman  as  any 
in  the  kingdom,  remounted  his  beast;  and  now  the 
company  again  proceeded,  and  happily  arrived  at 
their  journey's  end,  Mr.  Adams,  by  good  luck, 
rather  than  by  good  riding,  escaping  a  second  fall. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  273 

The  company,  arriving  at  Mr.  Booby's  house, 
were  all  received  by  him  in  the  most  courteous 
and  entertained  in  the  most  splendid  manner, 
after  the  custom  of  the  old  English  hospitality, 
which  is  still  preserved  in  some  very  few  families 
in  the  remote  parts  of  England.  They  all  passed 
that  day  with  the  utmost  satisfaction;  it  being 
perhaps  impossible  to  find  any  set  of  people  more 
solidly  and  sincerely  happy.  Joseph  and  Fanny 
found  means  to  be  alone  upwards  of  two  hours, 
which  were  the  shortest  but  the  sweetest  imagina- 
ble. 

In  the  morning  Mr.  Wilson  proposed  to  his  son 
to  make  a  visit  with  him  to  his  mother;  which, 
notwithstanding  his  dutiful  inclinations,  and  a 
longing  desire  he  had  to  see  her,  a  little  concerned 
him,  as  he  must  be  obliged  to  leave  his  Fanny; 
but  the  goodness  of  Mr.  Booby  relieved  him;  for 
he  proposed  to  send  his  own  coach  and  six  for 
Mrs.  Wilson,  whom  Pamela  so  very  earnestly  in- 
vited, that  Mr.  Wilson  at  length  agreed  with  the 
entreaties  of  Mr.  Booby  and  Joseph,  and  suffered 
the  coach  to  go  empty  for  his  wife. 

On  Saturday  night  the  coach  returned  with 
Mrs.  Wilson,  who  added  one  more  to  this  happy 
assembly.  The  reader  may  imagine  much  better 
and  quicker  too  than  I  can  describe  the  many  em- 
braces and  tears  of  joy  which  succeeded  her  ar- 
rival. It  is  sufficient  to  say  she  was  easily  pre- 
vailed with  to  follow  her  husband's  example  in 
consenting  to  the  match. 

On  Sunday  Mr.  Adams  performed  the  service 
at  the  squire's  parish  church,  the  curate  of  which 

11—18 


274  THE  HISTORY  OF 

very  kindly  exchanged  duty,  and  rode  twenty 
miles  to  the  Lady  Booby's  parish  so  to  do;  being 
particularly  charged  not  to  omit  publishing  the 
banns,  being  the  third  and  last  time. 

At  length  the  happy  day  arrived  which  was  to 
put  Joseph  in  the  possession  of  all  his  wishes. 
He  arose,  and  dressed  himself  in  a  neat  but  plain 
suit  of  Mr.  Booby's,  which  exactly  fitted  him;  for 
he  refused  all  finery ;  as  did  Fanny  likewise,  who 
could  be  prevailed  on  by  Pamela  to  attire  herself 
in  nothing  richer  than  a  white  dimity  nightgown. 
Her  shift  indeed,  which  Pamela  presented  her, 
was  of  the  finest  kind,  and  had  an  edging  of  lace 
round  the  bosom.  She  likewise  equipped  her  with 
a  pair  of  fine  white  thread  stockings,  which  were 
all  she  would  accept ;  for  she  wore  one  of  her  own 
short  round-eared  caps,  and  over  it  a  little  straw 
hat,  lined  with  cherry-colored  silk,  and  tied  with 
a  cherry-colored  ribbon.  In  this  dress  she  came 
forth  from  her  chamber,  blushing  and  breathing 
sweets;  and  was  by  Joseph,  whose  eyes  sparkled 
fire,  led  to  church,  the  whole  family  attending, 
where  Mr.  Adams  performed  the  ceremony;  at 
which  nothing  was  so  remarkable  as  the  extraor- 
dinary and  unaffected  modesty  of  Fanny,  unless 
the  true  Christian  piety  of  Adams,  who  publicly 
rebuked  Mr.  Booby  and  Pamela  for  laughing  in 
so  sacred  a  place,  and  on  so  solemn  an  occasion. 
Our  parson  would  have  done  no  less  to  the  high- 
est prince  on  earth;  for,  though  he  paid  all  sub- 
mission and  deference  to  his  superiors  in  other 
matters,  where  the  least  spice  of  religion  inter- 
vened he  immediately  lost  all  respect  of  persons. 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  275 

It  was  his  maxim,  that  lie  was  a  servant  of  the 
Highest,  and  could  not,  without  departing  from 
his  duty,  give  up  the  least  article  of  his  honor 
or  of  his  cause  to  the  greatest  earthly  potentate. 
Indeed,  he  always  asserted  that  Mr.  Adams  at 
church  with  his  surplice  on,  and  Mr.  Adams  with- 
out that  ornament  in  any  other  place,  were  two 
very  different  persons. 

When  the  church  rites  were  over  Joseph  led  his 
blooming  bride  back  to  Mr.  Booby's  (for  the 
distance  was  so  very  little  they  did  not  think 
proper  to  use  a  coach) ;  the  whole  company  at- 
tended them  likewise  on  foot;  and  now  a  most 
magnificent  entertainment  was  provided,  at  which 
parson  Adams  demonstrated  an  appetite  surpris- 
ing as  well  as  surpassing  every  one  present.  In- 
deed the  only  persons  who  betrayed  any  deficiency 
on  this  occasion  were  those  on  whose  account  the 
feast  was  provided.  They  pampered  their  im- 
aginations with  the  much  more  exquisite  repast 
which  the  approach  of  night  promised  them;  the 
thoughts  of  which  filled  both  their  minds,  though 
with  different  sensations ;  the  one  all  desire,  while 
the  other  had  her  wishes  tempered  with  fears. 

At  length,  after  a  day  passed  with  the  utmost 
merriment,  corrected  by  the  strictest  decency,  in 
which,  however,  parson  Adams,  being  well  filled 
with  ale  and  pudding,  had  given  a  loose  to  more 
facetiousness  than  was  usual  to  him,  the  happy, 
the  blessed  moment  arrived  when  Fanny  retired 
with  her  mother,  her  mother-in-law,  and  her  sis- 
ter. 

She  was  soon  undressed ;  for  she  had  no  jewels 


276  THE  HISTORY  OF 

to  deposit  in  their  caskets,  nor  fine  laces  to  fold 
with  the  nicest  exactness.  Undressing  to  her  was 
properly  discovering,  not  putting  off,  ornaments ; 
for,  as  all  her  charms  were  the  gifts  of  nature, 
she  could  divest  herself  of  none.  How,  reader, 
shall  I  give  thee  an  adequate  idea  of  this  lovely 
young  creature?  the  bloom  of  roses  and  lilies 
might  a  little  illustrate  her  complexion,  or  their 
smell  her  sweetness;  but  to  comprehend  her  en- 
tirely, conceive  youth,  health,  bloom,  neatness, 
and  innocence,  in  her  bridal  bed;  conceive  all 
these  in  their  utmost  perfection,  and  you  may 
place  the  charming  Fanny's  picture  before  your 
eyes. 

Joseph  no  sooner  heard  she  was  in  bed  than  he 
fled  with  the  utmost  eagerness  to  her.  A  minute 
carried  him  into  her  arms,  where  we  shall  leave 
this  happy  couple  to  enjoy  the  private  rewards 
of  their  constancy;  rewards  so  great  and  sweet, 
that  I  apprehend  Joseph  neither  envied  the 
noblest  duke,  nor  Fanny  the  finest  duchess,  that 
night. 

The  third  day  Mr.  Wilson  and  his  wife,  with 
their  son  and  daughter,  returned  home;  where 
they  now  live  together  in  a  state  of  bliss  scarce 
ever  equaled.  Mr.  Booby  hath,  with  unprece- 
dented generosity,  given  Fanny  a  fortune  of  two 
thousand  pounds,  which  Joseph  hath  laid  out  in 
a  little  estate  in  the  same  parish  with  his  father, 
which  he  now  occupies  (his  father  having  stocked 
it  for  him) ;  and  Fanny  presides  with  most  excel- 
lent management  in  his  dairy;  where,  however, 
she  is  not  at  present  very  able  to  bustle  much, 


JOSEPH  ANDREWS  277 

being,  as  Mr.  Wilson  informs  me  in  his  last  letter, 
extremely  big  with  her  first  child. 

Mr.  Booby  hath  presented  Mr.  Adams  with  a 
living  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  a  year. 
He  at  first  refused  it,  resolving  not  to  quit  his 
parishioners,  with  whom  he  had  lived  so  long; 
but,  on  recollecting  he  might  keep  a  curate  at  this 
living  he  hath  been  lately  inducted  into  it. 

The  peddler,  besides  several  handsome  pres- 
ents, both  from  Mr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Booby,  is,  by 
the  latter 's  interest,  made  an  exciseman;  a  trust 
which  he  discharges  with  such  justice,  that  he  is 
greatly  beloved  in  his  neighborhood. 

As  for  the  Lady  Booby,  she  returned  to  London 
in  a  few  days,  where  a  young  captain  of  dragoons, 
together  with  eternal  parties  at  cards,  soon  ob- 
literated the  memory  of  Joseph. 

Joseph  remains  blessed  with  his  Fanny,  whom 
he  dotes  on  with  the  utmost  tenderness,  which  is 
all  returned  on  her  side.  The  happiness  of  this 
couple  is  a  perpetual  fountain  of  pleasure  to  their 
fond  parents ;  and,  what  is  particularly  remarka- 
ble, he  declares  he  will  imitate  them  in  their  re- 
tirement, nor  will  be  prevailed  on  by  any  book- 
sellers, or  their  authors,  to  make  his  appearance 
in  high  life. 


THE  END 


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